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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 29 days ago

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Mother~Mother River – Short Fic

Chapter #1 - Mother-Mother River

!Not connected to Cursed Warlords Au! This shall henceforth be known as the Mother AU, for obvious reasons. Just under 8,000 words, damn I did not think it would get this long. Oh well hope y’all enjoy!

The group passes by the mother-mother river. Macaque has to fight with himself out of making a terrible decision. Wukong, however, has other plans when he hears the nature of the plan. You are oblivious to their scheming. Believing they see you as a friend.

How terribly wrong you are.

>>>>>

“Wow, what a surprise. Another… fucking RIVER!” Wukong yelled kicking his feet angrily.

Wukong stared at the damned water with anger in his red rimmed golden eyes. His golden fur was not meant to be wet, it was meant to be properly groomed, he hated when river water soaked it. He was a STONE monkey one who sank, so as soon as he saw the water of course his anger spiked. His tail snapped to the ground, a single golden band that was wrapped around it dented the ground from the strike.

He could barely believe he was still on this stupid mission. He should just go back home back to his people. There was no reason to stay-

“Wukong please calm down,” Your voice spoke up, your ever beautiful voice. The group had just gotten him to rejoin the journey and you really didn’t want him running off again.

Oh, that’s right. Wukong stared at you for a moment before huffing, you were the reason they were staying. If it hadn’t been for your damned shield than they could have simply taken you back to Flower Fruit Mountain without having to stay. It would be easy, so easy to just grab you and take you back to Flower Fruit Mountain where you could live happily and peacefully.

A slight ache in his head reminded him of the other reason that he didn’t wish to think about. The circlet had made itself very well known on his head. The dull aches it caused were annoying and honestly he wished for nothing more than to rip the thing off. However he knew that it didn’t work that way, not even close.

The feeling of warm, gentle hands rested on his head and he all but purred as you gently rubbed the edge of the band. The phoenix stone that hung from your ear, while an annoying thing was useful at times. And when you used the healing ability it had it felt absolutely heavenly. He almost whined when you took your hand away.

“You feel better?” You asked with a gentle smile.

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he followed closely behind you. You looked back to see him nod and you continued on your way. He should have just trapped you on the mountain the last time you came over. Your shield was unable to move so it wouldn’t have helped you much. Besides you would have gotten over the Monk’s death eventually. The thought crossed his mind again, it was such a lovely dream. Unfortunately one that would have to wait until he found a way to break the damned shield. A way that wouldn’t harm you anyways.

“Whatever,” He rolled his eyes slightly annoyed with his own thoughts.

Sha Wujing spoke up next, “Brother monkey, please calm down. We need to be resilient until we reach the Buddha.”

“Quite whining already,” Zhu Bajie snapped in annoyance.

Wukong just rolled his eyes again, the river demon was far too cheerful for his tastes. The only ones he enjoyed seeing that much joy on were his people, his moon and you his soon to be bride. As soon as he broke the shield and properly courtnapped you that is. Turning he was about to start ranting again when he noticed that his mate wasn’t in front of him, specifically his shadowy mate. You were in view but where did Mac go?

He looked around for a moment before finding him walking farther back from the group. This by itself wasn’t all that off but what was odd was the way Macaque was staring at the river. He was staring at it intently with a look of concentration and something else. Curious he found himself hopping backwards to meet his mate’s slow pace. His eyes still hadn’t left the water.

“Moon~ Is there something wrong?” He asked cautiously, if there was something wrong that was never a good sign. His mate could hear many things that he couldn’t possibly hear himself with only two ears. He was always first to know when there was danger around the corner. It was best to be prepared now.

“… Don’t… Don’t drink the water,” was the only thing he said. Wukong’s face scrunched in confusion but shrugged as they finally reached the bank. They were far enough back that no one else head what they said.

On the river bank the group noticed a boat. At least there was a way to cross safely. Wukong stared at it for a while but after seeing that it was a normal mortal woman who was perched in it he shrugged once again. He didn’t care to know why this woman was doing a man’s job and wasn’t going to pry. He was much more concerned with the way his Moon continued to stare at the water. His dark purple eyes were dilated and his tail lashed back and forth, while his hands were clenched into fists while he hugged his arms around himself.

The glamoured pitch black monkey kept his mouth shut. His deep purple eyes staring at the water, as his ears fanned and flicked at every small sound. The array of purple, blue and red was always a sight to see in Wukong’s correct opinion. Along with the swaying tail that flicked, the golden ring around it shining in the light of the sun.

“Does anyone need a ride?” The woman spoke up with a warm smile.

You the kind soul you were replied with an equally warm smile, “That would be greatly appreciated actually.”

Wukong examined the way that Macaque’s eyes snapped towards their soon to be bride when she spoke. The way his tail puffed up and the way his gaze snapped between the water and her. Something was up, there was something brewing through his mate’s mind and he was going to figure it out. One way or another, his mate was hiding something and he did NOT like being left in the dark.

“Moon~ Would you care to explain your nerves?” He whispered as he leaned against his mate’s ears. The three closer to Wukong twitched before lowering closer to his head. He was definitely hiding something.

The moment their eyes met when Macaque turned to look at him, Wukong knew that there was some plan forming in his head. Some sort of plan that made him both excited and desperate. What the plan was however was beyond him. Something must be special about this river and it wasn’t a demon that would attack them. Macaque would have already said it was if that’s what it was. Whatever was different about the river and the plan that was clearly forming in his mind were connected.

Whatever his plan was must be something fantastic if it was coming from his beloved Moon though. He wanted to know what was going on, his mate should let him in on what he’s planning, especially if it had him so deep in thought.

“…” He didn’t respond instead turning away again causing Wukong to frown. He must be really deep in thought to ignore his own mate.

>>><<<

Deep in thought he was. Macaque knew what the river was, what it could do. The Mother-Mother River. It was right in front of them, it was right there. All he had to do was mix some magic from him and Wukong and then… the very thought made him almost droll.

Fuck! You would look so damn cute, nice and round with their cubs. So, so cute and delicate. It would be all the more reason to take you back to Flower Fruit Mountain, where you would be safe and protected from all sides. Where you could be safe and provided for at all times. Where you could raise their cubs happily and safely. Where you couldn’t escape their grasp.

The thoughts pounded through his head. It was wrong, so so very wrong. It would be wrong to do that to you. You deserved to choose, to choose when you wanted cubs. Macaque was more than willing to wait for such a time. He was willing to wait. All he had to do was court you properly and you would eventually be willing to have cubs with him and Wukong.

But… It was right there. You could be having their cubs growing in the next few months. The would have his Sun’s beautiful golden eyes. They would have your pretty hair color too. They might have his six ears, though he’d be fine if they only had two. There were so many possible outcomes of how they would look. They would be so small, so cute and so- so perfect.

He’d wanted cubs since well before the attack against the Celestial Realm. Both he and Wukong had wanted cubs but his mate was so reckless that he didn’t believe it was the time. The thought of not only having cubs of their own but their beautiful, sweet, merciful flame being the one to carry them… It sent him spiraling with selfish desire.

It would stake their claim on you. You might hate them for it. You would be theirs. You already were theirs. But it could hurt you. The thought of hurting you gave him a feeling of disgust for not only the idea but himself for actually thinking about going through with it. It would break your trust in them, possibly forever. He despised the thought of hurting you… but the thought of losing you was a thousand times worse.

They had already slept together before though. It’s not as if you’d know that it was because of the water… because of him. It could have been that night, that beautiful blissful night, when you three got drunk. Of course you were such an adorable and flirty drunk. He had never even thought that you’d come onto them but that night you were… so open and welcoming. He adored it.

He only wished he had made a better show the next morning. Instead of slipping up his words as you fled in embarrassment. And of course when he thought about going after you, fucking Zhu Bajie had to come to wake him and Wukong. Wukong who actually started a fight with the pig for interrupting his morning. They hadn’t been able to broach the topic since, especially with you being the Monk’s shield. The thought made him want to snarl.

His eyes drifted back to the river. So many thoughts flew through his mind as he tried to tell himself that it was a bad idea, a terrible idea. You weren’t pregnant, you would have shown symptoms by now surely. It was such a long time ago… five months. You would know that it wasn’t from that night. Unless… it wasn’t as if Celestial Primates bred that often. There were only four in existence. There were no studies that showed how long it took for one to be with child.

Fuck!! He was thinking about it again! All it would take is one, tiny sip. Then you’d be so well and throughly claimed as theirs. Even more than you were now. The image of you draped in blankets, heavily pregnant and barefoot in their nest, forced its way into his mind. The very thought had Macaque purring, you would look so utterly perfect.

*Snap* *Snap* *Snap*

“Macaque!” You called out from aboard the boat, causing Macaque to flinch in shock out of his thoughts.

His face burned when he noticed everyone staring at him. They were waiting for him to get on the boat. He grumbled a ‘sorry,’ more so for you than anyone else. As he jumped onto the boat right next to you who was looking at him with a worried expression, he calmed himself. As the boat began to move he felt the back of your hand grace his forehead.

“You’re not overheating. So no fever,” You frowned, the worried expression refusing to leave your face.

You were so precious. Seeing him so concentrated and she was worried about him. It almost made him flush, but he refused to let that happen.

“I’m fine,” He grumbled forcing himself to pull away from you. He needed to keep his thoughts to himself right now.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, your face still covered with worry.

Oh what he would do to keep you by his side. It would be so easy, all he had to do was… his eyes glanced back at the water once again. You wouldn’t even suspect a thing, all you would know would be that you were gaining weight. At least at first… How cute and perfect you would look, you would be shuffling around not only in their nest but also simply on Flower Fruit Mountain. You’d never be out of their sight again, protected and cared for at all costs.

He wanted that, he craved that. To see you curled up in their nest, safe and sound away from this dangerous journey and happy. You’d be happy… at least he wanted to believe that you’d be happy. He knew how much you wanted to return home… but he didn’t want you to leave. It was selfish and it was kind of cruel but… you were theirs, you belonged with them.

Feeling your hand on his shoulder he jumped back a bit. He needed to get those thoughts out of his head, they were much to dangerous to think about- But you would be bound to them… not only as their mate but as the mother to their cub, no their cubs. They could have a whole tribe of cubs, they would protect them, love them, feed them… you would breast feed them of course, as long as you could. You could grow another one during it~

No… no you all would want to space it out, wouldn’t want too many cubs at once. That would be far too overwhelming. The first one could be from the river water and after that they could properly woo her until she was sure not to reject them. If you had their child, you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to keep them away from the cub! You were far more likely to stay by their side, after all you wouldn’t be able to protect them alone. You would need help, their help~

“Hey Moon! You’re distracted again,” Wukong poked at him from beside him, floating next to the boat on his nimbus.

Just like that his fantasy popped and he was forcing himself to calm down once again. The whole plan was stupid, stupid and downright cruel. They needed to woo you first before any plans of cubs should even arise. They needed to properly court you, like properly, with the gifts, the shows of their skills, providing food and valuables for you, scent marking you, courtnapping you~

At the thought of that he felt you shake his shoulder, saying something. Immediately he jumped up from the boat and jumped onto Wukong’s cloud. Wukong nearly fell over in shock as Macaque cuddled up into him. Surprised by the turn of events but he didn’t reject his mate from the offered cuddles. It would be even better if you were cuddled with them, but that would have to wait for next time. Because the last time he’d tried he got decked in the face. Probably because he scooped you up without even revealing what he was doing but that was besides the point.

“Hmph, he must be in a bad mood,” Zhu Bajie grunted in annoyance.

“You thin?” You bit back slightly before looking up at the duo on the cloud. That… that was too bad, hopefully he would feel better soon.

“My Moon, what are you-“ His words were cut short when his mate whispered into his ear.

“The river below us… The river is the Mother-Mother River… it makes those who drink its water become pregnant. I can’t get the thought of it out of my head… tell me- tell me that it’s a bad idea,” Macaque whispered and all at once Wukong knew what his mate had been thinking.

A bad idea? How was that a bad idea? He absolutely LOVED that idea! Oh that would be the perfect plan. He didn’t have to even explain the plan. No Wukong knew what it was. He could already imagine it. The thought of their sweet, beautiful bride ripe and round with THEIR child! It would prove even more just who you belonged to, just who you were mated to. None other than the Monkey Kings of course!

Why would Macaque ever think that was a bad idea? Why did he look so nervous and worried about this? Of course Wukong would agree to this plan! To have you come back home to the island not only as their official mate but as the mother of their unborn cub would be a dream come true. Of course he would agree to this plan. In fact this was one of the best plans his mate had come up with in a long time.

>>><<<

“Hey Reader… are you alright?” Tripitaka asked as he glanced at you with a worried expression across his face.

You looked at him for just a moment before laughing it off, “Oh yes. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure about that dear?” The boat maiden asked, her gaze was both soft and kind.

Even a stranger could tell? You thought to yourself with a bittersweet thought. Those two really did do a number on your emotions didn’t they? You pushed the thoughts aside, they were your friends, mere friends who you were traveling with for but a few years of their immortal lives. You tried to push the bitter pang out of your chest. It didn’t work.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. I’m just worried about my friends is all, he isn’t normally that… standoffish,” You muttered… friends, they were your friends, right?

They had stopped trying to attack the group a long time ago, and they started to give you gifts too. They clearly wanted to show you they didn’t mean any harm, even if some of the gifts were rather off. Like the time Wukong tried to give you a still beating and bloody heart. You honestly weren’t sure why they insisted on giving you gifts when they were clearly just trying to make friends. But you also knew they were monkey demons, and as such they expressed their emotions differently.

So of course, you all were friends. You could say that confidently, after all why else would they be so protective? Why else would they make sure you were provided for? Why else would they get so pissed off when another mortal tried to court you?

That- That had happened after… that night. Her face flustered at the mere memory. The memory of their arms around you, the memory of naked skin against fur, the memory of- Hold it right there! That was not at all appropriate thoughts for your friends. Neither Macaque nor Wukong had mentioned it again and you had all been drunk. It meant nothing, it was nothing but a drunken mistake that you would take to your grave.

“If you say so young lady. But bare in mind when the mind is plagued, it can cause you to loose focus on what really matters right in front of you. The here and the now,” The woman finally responded after a long moment of silence.

“You sound like the Master-“ Bajie snorted with a laugh.

Sandy smiled and nodded with his brother, “You are a very wise woman.”

“Thank you gentlemen. We’ve arrived, I wish you all well on your travels,” The Maiden said with a slight bow as the group slid off the boat with ease. “And young miss.”

“Yeah?” You responded almost immediately.

The maiden looked at you with kind and almost sad eyes, “Take care to figure out what it is your thinking so deeply on.”

You felt your face flush again. You knew what you were thinking of, that wasn’t the problem. No the problem is that you were thinking of such things at all. Those thoughts were both impure and inappropriate. Wukong and Macaque were your friends, nothing more and nothing less. Though a part of you, a very small part of you kind of wanted more.

You glanced up at the monkey kings who were still sitting, half on top of each other on Wukong’s nimbus. You couldn’t help but smile, maybe Macaque just needed some alone time with his mate. You were glad they were happy together, they truly were like the Sun and the Moon, always longing for each other. There was no room for you in that dynamic, it was best to get those thoughts out of your head.

Turning around you followed after the group, your thoughts still plagued with the two monkey demons. You should give them privacy. You were completely unaware of the argument that was being spoken by the two simians above the group. No, you weren’t aware of the dangerous and life altering argument that they were having.

The group continued walking for a while. Tripitaka atop Ao Lie getting the easiest ride. Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing were following after carrying the little luggage that was required for the group. Bajie and Wujing were rather large demons and only took on more reasonable sizes whenever you were near or at a human settlement. Such as on the boat, while now they decided to return to their regular forms.

You… you didn’t have a horse, nor did you have the advantage of size to travel easier. It was merely by the grace of Ao Lie’s slow pace that allowed you to keep up. You didn’t have the true speed to keep up with any of them, and you could be easily left behind. But… you weren’t. For that you were quite thankful to the white horse-dragon. Along with the slower pace, you traveling by foot also resulted in you needing to rest more than the others.

As the group continued to walk, you could see the upcoming town. A breath of relief left you, if there was a village than surly the monk would decide to rest there for a proper night of rest. If you were lucky then you’d stay there for two or three nights. However you knew that was rather unlikely as none of the group had any serious injuries. One night, one night would be enough.

Up above you, there was tension between the two monkey demons that were getting into a heated argument.

>>><<<

“Damnit Wukong! You’re supposed to help me NOT find the good in this stupid, idiotic idea!” Macaque seethed to his mate, his tail flicking angrily as he gripped the cloth of Wukong’s hanfu.

“Stupid? Idiotic? No love, this is a beautiful and absolutely PERFECT idea. It would be so easy too,” Wukong purred at the thought.

Macaque tightened his grip, “Wukong. I want this as much as you but it’s wrong. It’s wrong to force something like this onto her.”

“Oh my Moon~ We don’t have to FORCE her. All we have to do is offer the water, she can always reject it~” Wukong muttered leaning in to give Macaque kisses across his ears. “It’s not our fault if the river isn’t… regular water~”

A shiver ran down Macaque’s spine, he knew what his mate was thinking. He knew his mate very well and knew when his mate was thinking up some plan. He was going to offer the water without telling you about what it is. No, this was wrong. This was all wrong and terrible and a bad, bad idea.

“Wukong-” Macaque began.

“Think about it~ She will look so beautiful when she’s with OUR child, OUR CUB. Just imagine it,” He whispered. He gently biting one of Macaque’s six ears, causing a shiver to run straight down his spine. It wasn’t just because of the bite but also the image forming in his head once again of you heavily pregnant and thoroughly claimed in their nest.

“But- But we don’t even know if she wants cubs-” Macaque tried to persuade his mate as well as himself. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should have kept his mouth shut. Especially when all of his reasons were so easily deflected, especially when his mate who he wanted to stop him was trying to tell him all about how much of a GOOD idea this was.

“You and I both know that she wants cubs. Not to mention she was so good with the baby monkeys on the mountain. Remember~? They were climbing all over her, such curious little cubs they are, all interested in meeting their new Queen~” Wukong purred once again.

The memory was tranquilizing, it made his whole body stiffen. You had been so careful, so kind and so motherly when the baby monkey climbed up into your arms. You had cradled it gently to your chest and cooed as if they were the most precious thing in the world. The beautiful little cub that cuddled up to you was lost and clung to you while you found it’s mother. One who was so grateful to you. Neither the mother nor the cub had even sensed any danger from you at all.

“Come on! Just think about it. She would have to stop this stupid journey and come home with us. She wouldn’t be able to use the artifacts anymore because it could danger the cub and we both know the mere thought would devastate her. She would soon become ripe and round with OUR cubs. She wouldn’t even be able to fight back against us anymore like that~” Wukong sighed at the mere thought of you being unable to fight against him and his mate while also being pregnant with his cub. “We would keep her safe, and provided for. No one would ever be able to even think about taking her away from us~” Wukong chirped into Macaque’s ear happily.

It was the last sentence, the one about no one being able to take you away. The one about you staying with them and no one else that made the moon monkey’s resolve crack. His eyes dilated into slits as his tail curled with his mate’s. A deep purr rumbled through him and Wukong knew that he had won him over. They were going to have a cub! A precious little cub with their beautiful, merciful Reader! The thought caused him to start purring too.

As dazed eyes looked back up at his, Wukong grinned happily. A kiss landed on his lips and Wukong leaned into his mate, his clawed hand pulling Macaque closer into him. Claws dug into fur as they both purred happily, neither of them were letting go of the other. Each were practically trying to devour the other. They only released the other when they heard that annoying pig.

“Oh! Master told me to go get the water! You two have to come with!” Bajie called with an annoyed look across his face. He looked as though he was trying to get a rouse out of them. He also clearly didn’t expect for the monkey duo to agree however it was the perfect excuse to get exactly whaat they wanted.

“Ugh!” Macaque groaned dramatically, while hiding the thoughts that were swirling around through his mind. They were going to make you theirs! You were going to be theirs and absolutely NO ONE could stop them or take you away from them EVER.

>>><<<

“Are you sure it was a good idea to send Sun and Mac with Zhu Bajie?” You asked nervously looking back towards the river that they all headed towards. With how they act around the pig demon you doubted it was a good idea to leave them alone.

Tripitaka shrugged, “It should be fine. They don’t attack people anymore remember? They have been on their best behavior for a while now.”

You only grew more nervous. Sure, the two hadn’t outright attacked any humans in their path recently but.. that didn’t really say much. You still saw the glares of disgust and the annoyed expressions they gave any time other humans were around and whenever you had to come to a village. As much as you care for the two at this point, that didn’t mean you fully trusted them to be alone. Especially with Bajie, who had a tendency to piss them off to no end with his own arrogance.

“If- If you say so…” You muttered quietly, it would be fine. They wouldn’t kill the pig demon, that would send them both into painful torture for hours maybe even days. The pain of the tortuous headbands was something that the two avoided at all costs. They weren’t stupid. Reckless, stubborn and destructive? Yes. But by no means were either of them stupid in any sense of the word.

>>><<<

Meanwhile with the two monkey demons in question.

Bajie had gathered some water front the river in his water skin, lifting it up and taking several gulps without thinking twice. Macaque snickered to himself as he watched the unsuspecting demon. If he were kind maybe he would have warned him, but not only would that spoil their plans. He also loathed the existence of the pig for all the pain and humiliation he liked to cause the duo.

Wukong held in his laughter as the pig started his trek back. He didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder to make sure the two were following him. He didn’t care, the lazy pig simply wanted to return and get back to sleep in the inn. The inn that the rest of the group had probably already arrived at.

“Now. How do we make sure that its OUR cub she conceives. There has to be something special we have to do,” Wukong said quickly as Macaque looked at the water, a small water skin in his hand.

The shadow monkey stared at the water he collected. The best way to make sure that you conceived their child? The best bet would be blood and magical essence surely. Maybe they could have tried to mate after giving you the water- but he wasn’t sure you’d allow that. This was the best bet to make sure you were all well round and pregnant.

“Give me your hand, I need some of your blood,” Macaque said and without another word his mate gave it to him, his claw slicing through the stone monkey’s flesh. The skin healing quickly but after applying enough pressure there was blood left atop the now healed skin.

He sliced his own hand and added just a drop of blood from each of them. That should be all it takes… on second thought maybe they should add some magic too, just to be sure that it works. He allowed his shadows to easily flow into the water and Wukong added in his own powerful magic. Looking into the water it looked normal, he swished it around and his eyes widened as a shimmer of light purple and gold was visible. It was faint and almost unnoticeable hopefully you wouldn’t notice.

“We should get back now, we’ve been gone long enough,” Wukong grinned, a smile so wide it looked like his face might split.

“Yes! Let’s go and get our darling pregnant,” He giggled while wagging his tail happily.

>>><<<

It didn’t take much longer for you until the two monkeys suddenly appeared in front of you. Right out of your shadow. Wukong let out a loud hoot as he jumped out of the shadow portal his mate opened and pulled Macaque with him. You couldn’t help but chuckle at their giddy nature.

“We’re back… how did you too get here first?” Bajie asked his face covered in an irritated expression.

“Because you’re slow, duh,” Wukong laughed at the offended shout of the pig.

“There is no need to fight,” Tripitaka spoke up calmly as he was handed water.

“Sorry Master,” Bajie apologized but Wukong only rolled his eyes, not interested in apologizing at all.

“Wukong,” You said sternly.

He grumbled under his breath before sarcastically saying, “Sorry master.”

You knew that was the best you were going to get from the demon. He wasn’t one who liked to apologize or admit he was in the wrong. But he was getting better, slowly very, very slowly.

“We got some water for you too,” Macaque said as he held the small water skin up for you.

You blinked in surprise when he held it for you, but as you thought back on it there were many times that the monkey demons had given you food and water. You couldn’t help but smile softly. It was in their nature to provide and take care of those who they considered friends after all, at least that’s what you told yourself. You accepted the bag from his hand, not noticing the ay his eyes twinkled in excitement and his tail wag happily.

If you had looked into the bag and looked close enough you might have noticed the slight gold and purple glow that shimmered through the water. But the bag was mostly closed and you closed your eyes as you drank the water. So in the end neither color was noticed as you finished off the water.

“Thank you, I honestly didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” You laughed, truly thankful that they were so attentive.

“No problem,” Wukong grinned, a lovesick smile across his face at the successful plan.

“Do you need anything else? Food? More water?” Macaque asked as his tail thumped against the ground. His initial poor mood seemingly gone, though you still didn’t know how he came to be in that sour mood from before.

You pointed towards town and grinned, “No thanks. We should head over to the inn though, we’re almost there.”

“Of course,” Wukong grinned back at you, answering for himself and Macaque.

Usually they would travel on his cloud or Macaque would take a nap in someone’s shadow. It was odd to see the two monkey demons walk right next to you, though it wasn’t the first time they had done this, but it wasn’t often. At the change of their demeanor, a strange feeling settled into your gut. You narrowed your eyes, what did they do? Surely it was something if they were acting like this.

Just as you were about to speak up and ask, you heard Pigsy groan in pain. You’re head snapped towards him before Tripitaka followed suit in pain. Running over you noticed that Pigsy was on the ground clutching his stomach while the monk slid off the horse almost hitting you before you helped him the rest of the way down.

“Are you two okay!? What happened?” You nearly yelled as you got to them, fear lacing every word.

Macaque’s eyes darkened, why should you show them such care? He and Wukong deserved that attention far more than either of them ever would. Oh what he would give to slice them limb from limb, maybe even gift you their hearts to show that he was the stronger one. He was the one who deserved your attention. HE could gift you the monk’s flesh and with it immortality… he shook the thought away. No, you would only hate that. You and your ever soft heart.

“My stomach hurts,” Tripitaka groaned as you helped him to sit on the ground, he sounded as if he were about to die. A part of you told you, he might be dramatic knowing the monk, but you weren’t for sure.

“I’m dying!” Bajie groaned, now he was definitely being dramatic.

You immediately took your phoenix stone in hand and tried to help the pain go away for both of them. However as you tried the magic from the stone glowed for a moment before flickering out. Your eyes widened in shock, what the- You tried again, it wasn’t cold out there was no reason it shouldn’t work. Fear struck you and you summoned your shield… why did it work and your phoenix stone not?

“Reader are you alright, what’s wrong?” Macaque spoke up as he came over, crouching down to look at you as you allowed the shield to fall.

“It’s not- It’s not working,” You stuttered eyes watering when your only actual weapon wasn’t working.

Macaque glanced at the shield, it was a protective thing, one that didn’t require your magic. He wanted to grab it and shatter it, maybe then it would be out of his sight. If it required energy than maybe it wouldn’t work either, unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Instead of it not working it seemed to be even stronger, the magic within it sensing your more vulnerable state. He was actually impressed, Su was able to make such a strong enachantment and one that could sense you immediately.

In your state of turmoil you tried to think of a reason when Wukong placed a hand on your shoulder. “We’ll have to figure that out later, right now Master seems to be sick.”

You nodded, as you pushed the thoughts out of your head. Now wasn’t the time to freak out, no your friends needed you calmer. Taking a deep breath you looked around and noticed an elderly woman walking up to your group, seemingly on her way towards the river.

“Are you all okay?” The woman asked, quietly eyeing the demons in the group before turning her attention to you.

“We don’t know what happened! Our master and our companion suddenly fell over after drinking some water!” Wujing nearly yelled, completely freaking out over the situation. He tried to help Bajie sit up the same way you held up Tripitaka.

“Water? What water did they drink?” The woman asked, her fave creasing with worry as she pursed her lips in thought.

You didn’t notice the way that Macaque bit his lip in worry and irritation. You were about to find out the truth, what they had done. No! You had no way of knowing that they knew what they were doing, he knew this was a bad idea- but… you- you were carrying his child now. The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. It was only a matter of time-

“The water from the river-,” You began to say, but as soon as the words left your lips the woman began to chuckle before falling into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny!” Bajie shouted through his pain, anger splitting across his face.

“The river, you drank the water from THAT river?” The woman asked pointing back to the river that they had just left behind.

You nodded irritation covering your face at her nonchalonce and clear amusement at your companions suffering, “Yes, THAT river. What about it?” Why would someone laugh at someone else’s obvious pain?

You also couldn’t figure out how the river could be causing their pain. After all Macaque and Wukong had gotten you water too and you were perfectly fine. Besides the artifact not working you were perfectly fine, absolutely nothing was different. Then again… with your forest stone- you were immune to most poisons but surely there wasn’t a whole river that was just poisoned… right?

“You see my dear, this is the land of women. There are only women who live her,” The woman began with a kind smile.

“Okay? Cool what does that have to do with-“ You cut in but was cut off by the woman who was telling the story.

“We have no men here, so when a woman wants a child and to be pregnant… they go to the mother-mother river. When she drinks of the water, it makes the woman conceive a child,” She finished explaining completely calm about what she just said.

There was a moment of silence as the facts slowly settled onto the group. Tripitaka, Bajie and you had drank the water, the water from the mother-mother river. You- you were all… pregnant!?!? No-No this couldn’t be happening!

“What!?” You shouted in shock, your worry for your friends completely cut off when the fact that you- yourself were pregnant. Pregnant with a child, a child. You were pregnant!! Child, you were going to have a child!? Were you ready for a child? How were you supposed to continue the journey with a child at your hip!?

Of course, you tried to push those thoughts away when you looked at the other two. You had a female body, you had the organs to carry the child… Tripitaka and Bajie- they, they were men. They couldn’t carry a child, what- what would happen to them!? Would it kill them? Their bodies were not designed to carry life within them like a female’s body did. It was a part of nature that way. The mother-mother river wasn’t meant to be drank by men!

“So… you’re telling us that, Tripitaka, Bajie and Reader are… Pregnant?” Wujing asked, his shock evident across his entire face.

Behind the group Wukong suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. He fell down to his knees as he clutched his stomach, deep laughter rolling freely out of him as he cackled. He had been so caught up in their plan to get you to drink the water, for YOU to get pregnant that he didn’t even think about the monk or the pig demon. He laughed and laughed unable to control his fit of laughter as he realized that they were both indeed also pregnant.

Faintly he heard Wujing follow suit with the laughter. He wasn’t as worried and more amused at the situation. Of course the river demon would also find this situation as amusing as Wukong did.

“What!? No that can’t be!! How- How can we fix this!?” Bajie shouted angrily at the woman, his whole body shaking with rage at the mere thought of it.

“Fix it? Oh of course. You must follow the river up to the source where the river begins inside of the mountain. Within the mountain there is a spring separate from the river, that is where one can choose… to terminate the pregnancy,” The woman explained calmly as she eyed the group, holding back her laughter.

Almost immediately you felt yourself relax, your friends would be safe. You didn’t need to worry about them, there were three others who hadn’t drank the water and could get to the spring. You knew that a child could not grow within them, it would die before their life could even begin and it would probably take them with it. Your heart was pained at the thought, but you knew there was nothing that could be done about it.

“Wukong, Macaque, and Sandy you three go find the spring and bring back some water,” Triptiaka ordered quietly as he clutched his stomach in pain.

Wukong’s laughter all but seize up almost immediately before he looked at the monk and scowled. He hated when the monk told him what to do. He hated how the monk thought he was above him! He had no right to… but that wasn’t what he was most worried about right now. No. If they got the spring water then his own cub… NO DAMNIT! His face twisted into a snarl. You were carrying their cub! There was no reason for you to get rid of such a blessing!

“Hold up! Why should we fix your-!?” Wukong shut up when Macaque placed a hand on his shoulder and squeeze almost threateningly.

It was a silent but very real warning, if he kept talking it would ruin their oh so well thought out plan. Or rather the plan that they both jumped into without pausing attention to the consequences, even thought they knew what they could be. They had only thought of themselves and what this would all mean for them. Macaque knew very well that they were on thin ice, they were so close to being found out. He couldn’t have that, they were expected to fix their compainions’ fuck up. They needed to stay calm and think.

“I-I drank the water too though. Why am I not in pain?” You finally spoke up worry and confusion covering your face.

“… That would probably be because you are female. You are female are you not?” The woman asked with a warm and kind smile.

“Yes. I was- I AM female,” You nodded.

“Your body has accepted the child gracefully. However neither of your companinons are well- female. They cannot exactly carry the child so their body’s are clearly rejecting it and it is causing them a great deal of pain, and eventually it can lead to their death,”. The woman explained calmly.

The explanation calmed you down slight but it also worried you a great deal too. They were like this due to their anatomy, in pain with the possiblity of death looming over their heads. As for you? There as no threat to your life with a child growing in your womb. The worry for yourself had vanished but… your companions-

“Sandy, Wukong and Macaque go get Tripitaka and Bajie the water,” You said glancing at the three who had still not moved.

“What about you? You’re weak like this-“ Wujing asked, a worried expression crossing over his face for your safety as well as his other companions.

You stayed silent, you weren’t able to use your phoenix stone and you had no idea how long as that would last. You knew that it was dangerous in this world to be stuck without a weapon but- you could still use your shield. At least- for now. You didn’t know what to do you needed to protect your friends, and what would happen when- when you returned back to your world.

No! That’s not what was improtnat right now. Your shield still worked, you would be okay. You felt your eyes water and your vision blurred. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks but you fought them back. It would be okay- Besides they wouldn’t be that long.

They would probably bring you some water to- the thought crossed your mind. You weren’t sure if you wanted any but Wujing was clearly offering to bring you water too. Was this the right choice? You were weak like this and you would grow even weaker as months passed. You weren’t even sure how long it would take to get back to your world, would the child be born here? Or there? Would you be able to protect them? So many questions filled your head and you had no idea what to do about any of it.

Was giving up the child the right decision, but it was a child- YOUR child. The thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind as you looked up at the worried expression of the river demon. You didn’t notice the deadly aura that was slowly coming off of the monkey demons behind you. You were completely unaware that they knew what they did that they had decided to do it freely and willingly. All to have you to themselves with a little one one the way.

They would NEVER allow for something to happen to you or your- their cub. Even if you didn’t know it yet.

OKAY!! Finally finished the first chapter. How this turned from 4,200 words to almost 8,000? I have no idea. But I hope everyone enjoys. I’ll probably rewrite the rest of the story too, but damn I don’t know if the other chapters will be this long. This- is really long. Well I hope everyone enjoys! Right now I just want to know everyone’s opinion on it, if you are willing to give it that is.

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christinebloodwrittings · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you could do an Alastor x Reader, where Reader and Alastor are about to get married, but the day before their wedding, Alastor mysteriously disappears. On their bed lays a note: “I’m sorry, I had to leave.”?

Heart in debt

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: "Until death do us apart" turned into a "Until I see you again in hell", when Alastor, for unknown reasons, decided to become a runaway groom. Warnings: Gore, bit of angst.

Sorry for the delay dearest, this work took 4 drafts and a lot of re-write, I hope the result is to your liking :3.

The venue was reserved in advance, your mother had chosen the perfect location for you. The catering service was already paid for, as was the florist, band and cake.

Everything was ready.

Looking back, as you finished getting ready for bed, with your nerves on edge, you remembered how your parents reacted when you told them you were getting married.

The best couple ever, welcomed your fiancé, Alastor, as if they had recognized the plague made person. The permanent smile, the aura of death, and well, something they saw in him made them act defensively.

However, of course, your father loved you more than anything in life, so since the ring was of high quality, he had a house on his name, he could provide for you and assure you a future with children, he had no choice but to swallow his opinions and daydream the day when you say he can shoot his brains out.

It was distasteful to you that your father wanted to kill your fiancé, but you knew he loved you and as long as he was with you, Alastor would be fine.

And he was waiting in bed, with his glasses on the edge of his nose, busy with a book. "Excuse me, madam, but if you hold the rifle like that, you will hurt yourself due to the force of the recoil" you remembered your first interaction, his voice was as soft as silk, manners polished up to perfection.

“Then, what would you say is the best way?” you suspected he was going to say something mannish and arrogant, most man didn’t believed women could do nothing except cooking and breed children, judging by the eat shitting grin he was wearing, you were expecting the worst sexist comment.

Instead he asked your permission to help you, after you said yes, he gently moved your arms upwards to accommodate your position, then gently pulled sideways your hips, “Your support leg must be straight and tight, strong, otherwise you will fall back” then a rustle in the bushes alerted both of you, a white back deer.

“You can do it, aim” he encouraged you, watching the majestic prongs of the deer appear at the distance, “Breathe, don’t rush” his breath on your ear sent a shiver up your spine, “Now!” he spoke, you pulled the trigger, he held you during the push back, that kind of rifle was far too intense, even for him, but it had the enough power to kill the animal just fine.

“Do I have something on my face, dear?” he noticed your stare, smiling softly. You walked to him, pecking his cheek softly, “Now there is” he chuckled, setting his book on the nightstand, then he opened his arms to you, which were soon filled with your figure.

"I can't wait for us to be one" you snuggled against his chest, "Me neither, dearest" he pulled you closer, your hair ticking his nose. "At this hour tomorrow I'll be Mrs. Hartfield, I wish your mother were here to enjoy with us" his mom had passes away when he was a kid, but since your mother was friends with her, you got faint memories of the sweet woman that had raised your soon-to-be husband.

"She probably would have made a joyride out of the planning" his sarcasm got you giggling, "You're so mean" He kissed your temple, enjoying your laughter, "Rather honest, darling".

Nothing could go wrong at the moment, you were in cloud nine, until you woke up and noticed Alastor was gone. It was weird, usually he wouldn't move out of bed until you did.

“My love, I'm sorry, I had to leave. I realized I'm not ready. I'll be sending you money to compensate for the expenses. I'm sorry” Signed with his name, his calligraphy on a piece of paper next to his spot.

"Mamma?" You held the telephone life for dear life, barely holding on, "Did something happened my dear? You sound distressed" yes you were, also were under every type of weather, "He left, he left me a letter, and his clothes are gone" You chocked out on your words, tears falling onto your nightgown.

"Like full closet gone?" At her question you yelled back that he was gone, your heart shattered when you took notice that he even took his radio with him.

"I'll be there in just a moment; I'll make some calls okay?" She reassured you, "What happened?" You father spoke in the background, "Alastor left your daughter on her wedding day" Your mother tried to as delicate as she could, "Bastard! Don't worry baby, if he decides to come back, he's good as dead" he made the click of his shotgun sound against the phone, "I knew that son of a bitch was no good for my princess" he shouted.

"Maybe I did something wrong" you sobbed, "No sweetie, how can you think that? The lad wasn't ready, is no one's fault" Your mother tried to reassured you, but truth to be told, nothing could console you at that moment.

You refused to abandon his house, it was briefly yours before he went away, but the real reason was, that you still had some hope he would at some point come back. When he never did, you abandoned the house to live with your parents.

One night, returning late from your make up job at the speakeasy, you felt a rush, a cold feeling up your spine. Looking into the glass on the other side of the street, you caught the sight of a man, walking fast behind you.

Speeding up the pace, you ventured yourself into the swamp, the bayou. You knew Alastor had a hunting shed where you could at least arm yourself, you only had to run faster. Your heels at one point buried themselves in the mud, you had to continue on foot, a plus point since despite the stones and thorns on the way, you managed to reach the place.

You heard the paces even nearer, in a hurry you forced the lock to break, then took a rifle off the table inside, put three bullets in the chamber, then when the silhouette of your stalker opened up the door, he saw the end of the cannon pointing straight at his head.

“Turn back, leave!” your voice echoed through the trees, the wind eating up your voice quickly, “I will not repeat myself” you threatened, pulling the safety mechanism, “Poor little doll, you think you’re capable to-“ shakily, you fired, he was taken aback, nearly fallen to the ground.

“YOU WHORE!” he yelled, pressing a hand to his shoulder, “Leave, now” the rush that firing him gave you, was a sensation you couldn’t describe. It sent a shock of pleasure down your spine, you liked that feeling, even more so, when the one scared now, was him.

“Human scum” you aimed at his head, “See you in hell” his eyes took a less sharp look, his rage turned into fear, then absolute nothingness wrapped in blood.

Karma was a very ironic lady, when you pulled the man’s body to the lake, you tripped on an underwater root, your body barely above water caught the attention of a beast, and sooner than later, you were devoured by an alligator.

One man, one bloodlust rush sent you to hell.

A hundred years or so, after that incident, after surviving another extermination, hidden in a box in the closet. You felt a presence, something following you, you turned a corner, gun in hand, prepared to defend yourself if necessary.

When the footsteps stopped on the other side of the building, a shadow peeked its face towards you, the smile he was wearing was an amused one, especially when he saw you pointing the gun at him.

A slight unusual sound, seemingly a laugh, followed by its hand taking yours, only to leave a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Rather dashing, are you not?” your fear was not yet dissipated, but it was so gentle, offering its arm to walk you down the street.

“I’ve been eager to salute you, though I must say, you are rather hard to find” his voice was merely a whisper, “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he stopped in his tracks, “My most sincere apologies, but I don’t own a name, I’m simply a reflection, a shadow of a man” it seemed sad, yet conscious of its existence.

“Does this man, who’s footsteps you should be following, knows me?” he nodded in response, following by a quiet “He does”. You thought back how many men you have consorted with, who might have access or knowledge of umbrakinesis, none came to your mind.

“Am I to be afraid of his intentions?” as any other man you have encountered, you’ve never been able to shake the fear, always having to have a gun attached to your waist, “He has none, he thinks he has hurt you enough, with his sudden absence” he had been prohibited to utter the incident, but he found a way to do so anyways without actually saying ‘Alastor left you, and it pains him every day’.

“Alastor” his name fell off your lips like hasn’t done before, in quite a while, “Will he agree to see me?” you asked, wanting at least an explanation, “He’s not the man you remember” the shadow warned, but you were persistent, “I’d like to see him, if he has a moment he can gift me”.

His nonexistent heart shook in his chest, “I’ll see what I can do” that sentence alone brought you more hope than anything in the world, “Can you do me one more favor? I’ll see that you get compensated” now in your home, you took paper and pen, at the same time that you took a tiny bag off one of your drawers.

“This are three pure gold coins, Spanish ones, Cortéz brought this ones himself” you placed the bag on its hand, “I hope you accept this as payment, to pass him a letter?” he nodded watching you take your quill and start writing to him.

When you were done, you melted a bit of candle wax, sealing your heart in that page, then he left with the letter.

“My dearest friend.

How the time has treated us, I hope will never know. If there was a god up there I shall thank him, for it brought you back to me somehow, however subtle presence that is.

Have you seen the changes? Are you still pursuing your ambitions? How have you been all these years? Many questions flooded my mind, as soon as your name was brought to me for the first time in a century.

If it’s not too much of a bother, I would like to see you, an hour is all I desire.”

I’ll await your answer, in whichever mean you see fit.

While reading the letter, Alastor made a pause, his eyes burning with the old feeling, the same crushing one he was hunted by ever since he left under the mantle of the night.

“I am not mad at you, I just wish for clearance, closure.

Happy to make your acquaintance whenever you’d like.

Sincerely, Y/n.”

“Take the package with you, and make sure she’s safe” he ordered his shadow, who flew a couple days later to your doorstep.

A box, laced with a red ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw a radio inside, engraved with flowers and birds in the most exquisite wood that hell could offer. On top of it, there was a note that read “Play me”.

You sat by the fireplace, leaving the radio on the tea table, your shadow friend taking seat beside you while you push the button that was marked.

“One, two, three, testing? Can you hear me, my dear?” his voice was slightly different, there was a lot of static, but you wondered if that was his or the radio’s. “Yes, I can” yours was a melody he had yearn to be blessed with for years, “Wonderful, I had received your letter” your stomach was in tangles, awaiting his thoughts.

“I do wish to see you, but I have something to tell you first, that may be quite daunting” your breath was caught in your throat, “Go on” you inquired, “The reason why I couldn’t marry you is due my activities in the woods, I am a killer and a cannibal, bringing pain to others grant me pleasure like no other” he laid the truth as plain as it could be, giving that he couldn’t see your eyes directly.

“Oh thank god” he was taken aback by your giggly sigh, “I thought you a…you know, someone that fancy other men” he laughed as well, he found the assumption ridiculous, also he thought strange that you’re so unfazed by his confession.

“You are glad?” you took a moment to find an answer without sounding like you’ve gone mad, “Alastor, are you a man that stalk women down to alleys to feast on their screams?” he answered a firm no to your question, “Are you a man that defiles other women?” another no.

“Do you enjoy killing the scoundrels you hated so much, bullies, the ones that take advantage of the ones with fairer means?” he took a second to pridefully answer “Yes”, you took the shadow’s hand as if it was his, “Then your mother and I can rest in peace, as cruel as you may be Alastor, you still hold your morals high, I cannot say the same regarding your honor” he laughed at the mention of the latter.

“Did the cat caught your tongue?” he had fell silent for a minute, “No, I haven’t been at a loss of words in a while, is all” the shadow nuzzled against your hand, moving it so it could cup his cheek, “Can I pay you a penny for your thoughts? I think I might be saying it wrong; the young ones say it a lot” you giggled, adding to the ache in his heart.

“I didn’t expect you to be alright with it, it leads me to wonder, why are you down here?” you decided to be just as honest as he was, “I killed a man that had ill intentions towards me, and I liked it a little too much” his smile grew devilishly.

“Did he suffer?” if not, he was going to hunt him to grant the man a second demise, one he would ensure he would regret choosing you as his target. “The fear in his eyes, brought a smile to my face” oh he could not be more in love, he made a wise decision to send the radio, if he had you in front of him, he would’ve devour you entirely.

“How did you died?” he made a silent pray, with some hope that at least your death would not have been painful, “I was alligator food in the bayou, in an attempt to get rid of the body, September 4th, 1929” oh how that fact made a twist in his stomach, just like himself, you were eaten alive.

“I am sorry” you laughed, “For what? Your shed was the most convenient, I killed him with your hunting rifle, like you taught me” he remembered, it was the first time he felt actual pleasure in someone else’s warmth, “I can now stop regretting introducing you to the art of the hunt” the shadow placed a kiss on your temple, “Very much so”.

He felt your skin on his lips from within the connection with the sentient, “Will you join me tomorrow, for tea? I’m helping to rise a hotel with hell’s princess” oh so that’s where he was hiding around, you thought, “Fancy, I must be the one warning you now, I do not look…pleasant, I died in a swamp so I wear that fact in the form of my skin” you admitted.

Water nymphs were pretty, you were somewhat that, only more inclined to an eel. You had a long thin fin for hair, red-yellow spotty skin, sharp teeth, light brown scales covering your hips and torso, not to mention your clear blue eyes, not a choice of color but rather a blind looking hue, much like an eel.

“Mon coeur, rest assure, I am more concerned of your reaction towards myself” he was to the limit of nearly arranging an emergency visit to Rosie’s for a new wardrobe, “I cannot wait to see you” until you spoke that lovely sentence, “Nor can I, my dear”.

The next day, without a wink of sleep, Alastor creeped behind the princes, after making the many preparations up in his personal bayou. “Charlie, I have a request” he purred, attempting to mask his excitement, “Sure Al, what is it?” the question pinched a curious itch in the princess, “Yeah, you rarely ask for things” added the fallen exterminator.

“I’ll have a guest today, one that I hold in high regards, so I’ll be excused to my room” excitement also brew in the princess itch, “Sure thing Al, no worries” she cheerly smiled at him. It seemed the fact he had company also touched the spider’s curiosity, or rather, surprise.

“Smiles got a date?” he looked in quite shock towards the feline bartender, who could do nothing more than scoff, “That’s impossible, it must be another soul he wants to own” he soon swallowed his own words given that Alastor materialized next to him, “Husker! Your best whiskey please” the way he utter the name of the former overlord was a warning laced with a threat.

Later that afternoon, a knock made Charlie sprint towards the door, outrunning Niffty. “Hello, I’m Y/n, lovely to meet you, I’m here to see Alastor” you courtesy at the sight of the princess of hell, “Of course, come, come” who eagerly took your hand and pulled you inside, “He’ll be down in a minute”.

She had you sat in the lobby, with the company of Angel and Vaggie, “Sorry if I’m too curious, but how do you know Alastor?” Charlie began the small talk, ever so politely, “If he’s as mysterious as he was in life, your curiosity is well within your right, he’s a dearest friend of mine” the princess was impressed to know her host had more friends than that sleazy woman, Mimzy.

“Aww, how nice!” she also told you that there was no need for any more manners towards her, though you insisted giving the way you were taught ever since you were a child.

“Y/n” your name rolled off his tongue like the beginning of a poem, “Alastor” you turned your head around, before standing up, watching closely as he would not break eye contact with you, as he made his way around the couch.

“Now those two were not just friends” Vaggie had a sly smile on her face, “That sexual tension is delicious” Angel added watching just how slowly Alastor brought your hand up to lay a kiss on your fingers. Your chest rising noticeably from your tight corset, the excitement was palpable indeed.

“Well if I must atone to the intrigue, she was my fiancé” an audible gasp filled the room, “Now, if you’ll excuse us” since never let go of your hand, he was able to swiftly place it on his forearm as he guided you to the stairs, “Princess, bye friends” you curtsied as you followed him along.

He had arranged a white set of garden table and chairs, an ensemble of various sweets and meat treats displayed, along with a set of cups and plates in a remarkable shade of blue.

“Oh, Alastor this is exquisite! You shouldn’t have” you knew the meat was for him, he was never a fan of sweets, but you were, “Of course I had, please have a seat” he pulled your seat for you, pushing it ever so gently when you were already seated.

“Always so gallant” pride rose to his face in the form of a subtle rose color, he managed to hide it when his shadow came from a corner to give you a hug, “Oh hello you, he’s so cute, how come he doesn’t have a name?” if you didn’t knew better you would’ve thought that Alastor had gone green from envy, seeing his shadow receive more pets and attention than himself.

“It didn’t cross my mind, he wants you to do so” he sat in front of you as his tone grew bitter, “Alistair would be repetitive, I think William is the best bet” it intoned a purr, your hands caressing the base of its ears, “He likes it”.

He took the time you were distracted to prepare your cup of tea, adding just the right amount of sugar and mint leaves, that gesture brought your attention back to him, “You remember how I like my tea?” he had done that almost as a reflex, “Somethings never leave the mind” he admitted almost impressed with himself.

“You don’t look half as bad as your warning” you scoffed at his confession, “Don’t lie” you rolled your eyes earning a laugh from him, “I’m not”, but even with his sincerity you were conscious of your appearance, “Alastor, I’m part fish, I have scales, for crying out loud” from across the table he took your hand in his, “And I’m a deer, so? Could be worse” he had a point, you had seen the dreadful appearance of some rat demons, “Uhm, maybe you’re right”.

“Why did you leave?” after a long silence, accompanied by the sounds of the bayou, you decided to break the peace, addressing the ‘elephant in the room’. “I was afraid I would hurt you; you knew my step-father and now, my affairs” you were aware he had been raised by the end of a whip due to the monster his mother married, who you briefly met when your mother had tea with his.

“Alastor, you could never” he may be a killer, but you were certain he would never raise a hand to harm you, “You don’t know that, I am this, Y/n” it was your turn to give him a reassuring squeeze to his hand, “Did you loved me?” his eyes, quite more honest than the permanent smile he wore, widen to your question.

“I would’ve done anything to prevent harm from coming your way” you scoffed, “Yes, but did you loved me?” he let go of a breath he had trapped down in his lungs when he finally admitted the truth: “I still do”, but there was more to it, “I feel as…as if I had a debt to you, one I have no idea how to repay, nothing I think is enough” and indeed he had a mental list, burning hell to the ground was the top one choice.

“Is your hand one of the options? Your heart, perhaps?” the wish to wipe his head on the pavement had vanished a long time ago, forgiveness was perhaps the toughest thing to accomplish, but your pride wasn’t that big.

“Is not enough” he shook his head, believing that his heart was either too small or nonexistent, “It would, with time, you do owe me a century” you didn’t wanted to let go of his hand, it was the first long contact from him on years, “I’m…not worthy of you” he tortured himself ten times more than hell already did, but you just shrugged, “Who is then, if it’s not you?”.

“You didn’t marry anyone after I left?” you certainly didn’t, “No” he had imagine you at least could love someone again, be happy, “Why?” but you held him in your heart until the very day you died, “Silly hope” that broke him, if he had a choice, his smile would’ve fade in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry” he pulled gently of your hand, leading to sit across his lap, “Water under the bridge” he delight himself in your hand caressing his cheek, lightly, almost asking for permission, when unknowingly he was yours.

“Not for me” he pressed his ears to the back of his head, allowing you to caress him, as his arms hugged your figure close to his chest. “We have eternity, if you’ll have me” he was so glad you mentioned that option, it gave him the opportunity to pull from his pocket a beautiful diamond ring, rose gold.

“Your mother’s ring?” you were in shock at the same time as excited, yet scared as well, “Will you leave again?” he cupped your cheek, placing a kiss near the corner of your mouth, “Hell will freeze over first” you imitated his gesture, “Then, you can ask” his smile softened.

“Y/n, will you marry me?” just as he slipped the ring on your finger, you whispered in his ear, “I’ll have your head if you leave again, yes” sending a shiver down his spine, “Please do” a kiss sealed the engagement just like the first time he had ask.

#alastor x reader #cursed cat alastor #radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin art

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christmasjade · 6 months ago

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My thoughts on Married in Red+ My general thoughts on Studio Investigrave !

So I really like this game

It was fun to be able to play it on my own with no help from Youtubers and stuff ^^

The game has 1 ending, though you can have 2 different kinds of game overs lol (I'll get to that later)

The mc (Bok-su) and her relationship with the bride (Da-Jeong) is sad , but not shocking lol. You can kind of tell from the promotional art (and the theme of atonement said in the itch.io description) that Da-Jeong and Bok-Su are not on good terms.

I like that Bok-su was able to get her revenge on Da-Jeong. Obviously her way of doing it is horrible, and the groom (Myeong-hoon) being a main part of her revenge is sad, because he had nothing to do with this.

However, I dont feel that bad for Da-Jeong at all. Yeah, two wrongs dont make a right, and people panic, but she essentially ruined Bok-Su's life and reputation to save her own ass, so I really can't bring myself to feel too bad for her.

Sure you can argue that the situations are different, with Bok-Su purposefully killing Myeong-Hoon meanwhile what Da-Jeong did was a mistake, but I personally am a firm believer of getting your lick back, so 🤗..

I also like how the deaths and reactions are the exact same lmao.

The patient Da-Jeong killed was a man, and his mother said something along the lines of like.. "You killed my son" (I dont exactly remember, depsite me literally just playing LMAOO) and Myeong-Hoons mom literally says the same thing/something adjacting to that too Da-Jeong.

Da-Jeong runs off and during her break down says "I didn't do it-", which is what Bok-Su says when shes retelling the story of what Da-Jeong did to her.

Bok-Su had to goal of getting her payback to make Da-Jeong atone and she accomplished it. And the crazy thing is, despite everything that happened, Da-Jeong never said sorry.

She never said sorry. Not when Bok-Su showed up to the wedding, not when the two of them where alone in the garden, and damn sure not when Da-Jeong had "enough" of Bok-Su being there.

She never said sorry, not even when she pointed the blame onto Bok-Su. In fact, Bok-Su repeats a line that Da-Jeong said to her when (I'm assuming so anyway) the incident happened. Da-Jeong told her that she didnt have anything to worry/be mad about.

The ending of the game, obviously, isnt really a happy ending. Bok-Su gets her revenge and makes Da-Jeong go through what she did but 10× worst. So sure its happy for her,but its still horrific lol

Which is why I love endings for the games that Studio Investigrave makes. With the exception of Cold Front, all of the endings across all the games arent truly happy ever after kind of endings.

With Dead Plate, Rody either has to kill Vincent after finding out his ex was killed and turned into food by him AND after he tried to do the same to Rody.

Yeah Rody makes it out alive, but theres still a horrible and traumatic incident that happened. He knows why Vince did it, and was able to get rid of him, but it doesn't erase the fact that Manon is still dead. (Or with the other ending he leaves the restaurant and never find Manon, because shes in the fridge "missing".)

With Elevator Hitch, the cycle repeats for Protag. When he finally gets the chance to leave the Elevator and the building, hes stopped by some..guy ?? (Who looks like an alternate lmao) and is convinced that he needs the job. The exit doors then open up into the elevator again. He never leaves that building, and is probably stuck in a time loop.

With Eloquent Countenance, Angelica either gets the ritual redone on her by the cult, or is stuck in the cult with the knowledge that shes not the only one in her body. But that she shares it with an angel pretending to be the dead wife of the cults pastor.

Yeah, she lives, but she has to wait until Forcas can fully save her from her possession by said angel. The ending, like Dead Plate and Married in Red, is horrific.

And then with the other ending of Cold Front , if you push Winnie off the stairs, he dies in the crash and Auggie takes his place. It's a happy ending for Auggie, sure, but he never gets the closure or the realization that Winnie was never the wicked and mean person he made him out to be in his head. Its disturbing how content he is with it, with the fact that his former best friend is dead and how he replaces him.

But yeah, erm... the game was fun, 10/10 ^^

#studio investigrave #dead plate #cold front #elevator hitch #eloquent countenance #married in red #long post #opinion #infodump #rant post

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y-rhywbeth2 · 8 months ago

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Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

#I just want to rescue Orin; she breaks my heart #and I kind of hate that she didn't win on some levels #I just want to rescue her ToB style but without the bad ending that got added in post-game #babbling #edgelord hours #villainous nonsense #the family circle #/durge #/orin #/gortash #/ketheric

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altocat · 13 days ago

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As much as I do love and support Lucretia's dubious science wrongs, I think it's important to remember everyone on the Jenova Project (sans Hojo) Really did believe that Jenova was a Cetra. To Lucretia her baby, if everything went correctly, would be no different from a human aside from having the ability to speak with the Planet and help find the "promised land".

Doing so would be the greatest feat in science, it would abate an inevitable energy crisis and make the entire world a better place, basically the ultimate repentance for wrong she felt she committed to Grimoire. She did not know she was putting evil alien genes into her baby, and it was Hojo's abusive ass who kept that information from her and everyone else. Her tragedy is more in the fact she was conned than her setting out to do evil science from go.

I would definitely argue that Gast is way worse than Lucrecia. From what I understand, he eventually found OUT that Jenova wasn't a Cetra and rather than take responsibility for his actions, he dumped Sephiroth in order to pursue something else, leaving him at the mercy of Hojo. I understand this is all offscreen subtext that they could easily retcon it in Part 3, but yeah. Lucrecia still did nothing wrong compared to Gast.

I frame Lucrecia's logic as her committing to the Jenova Project as a way to make up for what happened with Grimoire, as you said above. I believe she genuinely thought this was a redemption of sorts, and that she'd be permitted to be involved in Sephiroth's upbringing. There's nothing in her speech or motives that suggests that she would have EVER sanctioned Sephiroth becoming a weapon. I think that's probably why Hojo stole Sephiroth from her at the first opportunity. Lucrecia probably thought she was birthing some sort of child-savior that she could groom and nurture into becoming a protector of the planet, a Cetra that could revolutionize the foundations of the world. Her shock and horror at Sephiroth being taken AWAY from her suggests that she WANTED him in her life, and that she recognized that giving him over to Hojo was a bad thing.

I'd also like to point out that (also unlike Gast), Lucrecia left because there was no rational way for her to reach Sephiroth. Having failed to save Vincent, she likely reasoned that she was completely powerless in going up against a major organization like Shinra. If she can't even rescue her baby from Hojo, how could she possibly go up against the very SYMBOL of fascist capitalism? The very same organization that starts WARS with ARMIES of soldiers at its disposal? Sephiroth would have been heavily guarded. And Hojo could just as easily threaten his life if Lucrecia got any fancy ideas. Whereas Gast fled for his own selfish pursuits, Lucrecia fled out of despair and complete futility, looking to PUNISH herself any way that her body would allow in penance for her sins. She wanted her son. But she couldn't have him. It was one more life she couldn't save. And since she couldn't die on her own terms, she sought whatever means necessary to isolate herself from the rest of the world, to ensure that she couldn't do any more damage.

Do I think Lucrecia would have been a good mother to Sephiroth? No, probably not. I think she would have loved him, and would have done her best to be a good mother to him. But I also think her demons would have caught up with her and she would not always be the most stable presence to be around. I think having her in his life would have been infinitely healthier for Sephiroth than the canon alternative. But that doesn't mean that Lucrecia would be the ideal mother he fantasizes about.

I just think that Lucrecia is NOT the unholy satanic abomination that "fans" label her to be. She's a tragic character caught in a downward spiral. With no idea how to claw her way out. She's done terrible things, but not out of malice or the desire to cause harm to others. She wants to fix her mistakes. But she doesn't know how. And so she punishes herself over and over and over again, unintentionally making the situation worse. It's honestly kind of depressing. I don't think she needs to be a perfect, flawless, angelic character. But she's far from the worst offender in the Jenova Project.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #sephiroth #sephcanons #final fantasy vii #dirge of cerberus #hojo #professor hojo #gast faremis #lucrecia crescent

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satocidal · 1 year ago

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𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” — Geto Suguru

Synopsis: For money and power, Suguru would do a lot, but for a love he didn’t want? Somehow, he finds himself bending even the strongest of ideals. Five years ago he’d saved a monkey—not actually processing the estranged entanglement that would lead him to.

— word count: 8.7k

— A/n: I wouldn’t be a thorough Suguru fucker if I didn’t write cult Geto and just something I (we) deserved<;3

— New Taglist: since the last one got confusing, here’s a new one babies<3

— Warnings: smut!!MDNI!!Afab! Reader x Suguru; use of religious themes; minor death; power play; slight gore; impact play; sub-dom dynamics; degradation; humiliation; impact play (fem receiving); oral (m! And f! Receiving); reader is mostly referred to as a female; complicated storyline; mentions of blood

The first bell.

The second bell.

Then the third.

Married.

~5 years ago~

The words echoed in your head, over and over and over and over—it hurt.

His hands were soft as they held yours, he led you slow, your father’s did.

The white veil that you’d spent hours to decide upon, the one you would never care about—it swept beside you, gasps escaping the lips of many as you walked out. And there, there your eyes met his.

Poised he stood, white hair slicked back—nothing like those superficial memories his Servants had sung to you about, nothing like the glimpses you’d caught of him. This man, the one on your altar—that was Suguru Geto.

Not the Geto-Sama you’d heard of, the ones who was a deity to all- a pretty hand fared upon those who sought him blindly; not the Curse user Geto, the fugitive you recognised him to be, the one you hated—no.

None of that.

This was Suguru Geto—your husband to be.

You hadn’t assumed your wedding to be a fairytale—in all honesty, you hadn’t assumed anything at all. But the heart of the little girl in you wept, openly so, when the worn upon thin line of a supposed smile didn’t do so much as even cast a shadow upon you. Not to be perceived wrong, however—Suguru certainly had grinned and smirked, laughed and tickled himself senseless—perhaps so to forget this ordeal—to forget you.

Eyes moist, a tear he did let go off—superficial it was, you knew it, but a saint Suguru Geto would be deemed the next day in the whispers of his followers, especially the ones who envied to be you.

Don’t get me wrong, congratulated by everyone—he did show joy, in some meaning of the word, just not the way you hoped—or even supposed for that matter.

Yours was never meant to be that perfect wedding, not at the core of it—you knew that from day one of the sequenced wedding but then—just something, a little dream and heart crushed grudgingly when you realized it wouldn’t be your husband who cried the moment he set his eyes on his bride—it wouldn’t be you telling those cute stories about your wedding day.

It wouldn’t be you—it was normal you’d heard, for grooms to be overwhelmed in their weddings- the thought of spending a forever with his bride, the supposed memories flooding their mind—but it wouldn’t be for you. He stood there with hands behind him, eyes awaiting your presence still.

A smile he held—empty as you joined him—eyes were very telling your father had preached, never once had you found him to be wrong.

His hands felt cold as you held them—cold like the storm his warm hands had saved your family from, colder still somehow was his presence, then and now. And you realized, your heart — to what you had thought to be a void, trained so — breaking as you realized that the marriage was a cage to him as much as you. Neither happy—he wasn’t happy within your presence, or anyone else’s.

Pathetic.

But again, did it truly matter?

The wedding had begun— officiated, soon your “I do”s would slip, the wedding couldn’t be stopped now, not ever.

And in that moment your eyes flickered to your own mother—she stood regal.

Embroidery she’d fought into you, cooking and baking, sewing a skill she’d made you own too—pity she couldn’t teach you controlling your emotions—pity you despised all that was your influence.

Your eyes managed to flicker onto him—saintly, your brain mused—your heart couldn’t help but agree. And those saintly features held an ugly heart you told yourself, solace to a lonesome mind.

“Suguru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away—mayhaps you wanted that, mayhaps, you didn’t.

What else could you expect?

He clearly didn’t want this, understandable was the fact. It wouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

But it was his choosing, was it not? And mayhaps, yours.

The cult leader had chosen you, and in the process, you—him.

He’d watched you a while, days, you knew of his lingering gaze—respectful then, disgusting now.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

You sighed—soft.

“Y/n, do you promise to love, honor and cherish and protect Suguru, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?”

You remembered the day clearly—father had knocked once on your once—a new found privacy in your sheltered house was the first sign.

A wide smile—“He’s chosen you.”

Your heart sunk.

He’d chosen you.

Your eyes were quick—a glance here and there and everywhere—the pause was heavy; you watched your father’s nod of encouragement—your mother’s sharp eyes—his daughters’ smile, innocent - his followers’ sip of champagne—your sister’s eyes were hazy; his best man’s tipsy.

You couldn’t say no—“I do,”

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Your eyes widened behind your veil- not your first- the breath hitched as Suguru removed your veil—crystal seemed his eyes, crystal clear was his distaste. He was tall—comical in fact—you tip toed slight, he leaned in a bit—the kiss was warm, chill, foreign. His hand rested upon your cheek, a stroke—a pull, brief.

Your eyes watched as he pulled away, a new smile on his lips—an actor he would have proven to be—or, as you knew, he was.

A million thoughts clouded you and him—known to only the two of you—marriage worked quick in that sense you supposed, your mother and sister were perhaps right. But when all was said and done—the marriage was officiated.

And your eyes met then—a thought passed between you and your husband—stuck together—sincerely, fuck you.

The ride back ‘home’ was tedious, it burnt, it burnt all too much.

“Geto-Sama will prove to be amazing,” the driver yapped yet, all too soon—as he had been for the past anxious hours—time moved slow, slower than the gaze you didn’t dare hold against him.

A soft smile he held, serene as if, “I’m sure he will be,” just as fake a smile you held too—husband and wife—equal footing, equal qualms at the truth you didn’t accept and lies you foretold.

‘Geto-sama’ this and a ‘Geto-sama’ that— the entire reception had been torturous, you hated it—hated the man they chose not to acknowledge—hated the murderer.

All to your liking though, the car finally came to a stop, at your residence—your new home.

“You may sleep here,” soft a voice, too cold, however, compared to the gaze he held—it felt welcoming.

You nodded just as quietly, a good wife would never fight, they’d taught you—more important than ever for your life now depended upon so.

“Geto-Sama,” you hated the way it rolled off your tongue so smooth—meant to be, “where will you sleep?” Innocent enough a question and yet the scoff he passed under his breath was all well noticed by you.

“Not to worry you darling,” he smiled softly still, “I wouldn’t ever imagine sleeping with you,” and wrapped in his words lay the tone of condescension—hidden all so beautifully, a small round of hide-and-seek in itself.

Lips pursed, you stared at him—“Alright, drop the act, we’re alone,” the tone itself surprised you—the confidence all the more so, as you bore deep into his eyes, unwavering.

A brow cocked, he passed a smirk well of his own, “So the monkey is capable of thinking huh?”

“To call the bearer of your children a monkey, you should know your kids will be a part of me,” it was desperate really, bringing in the prospect of a future you never wanted for the sake of some respect.

A deep rumble emerged within his chest—chaos, “You think you’ll have such rights? What are you if not worth less than your father’s money?” Your face burnt at his words—hot, embarrassed, it was true.

“A reminder perhaps,” you spoke through clenched teeth—“you were the man who came begging to my father for-”

“-begging? Please,” he scoffed, “and I wanted protection not a whore to be passed around,” his words lay sharp, all so much so that the hilt of his words was enough to penetrate too mayhaps.

“Could have called yourself a celibate, Geto-Sama,” his sharp- yours blunt, impact lay the same with both—regret caused to the other.

“Are you so desperate that you are willing to fight to sleep with a strange man, all so alien to you?” There it lay, that constant lazy smile—the one he never shied to portray to his desperate followers—now, to you.

“A husband,” gritted teeth, you baree, “you are a husband now, accept the fate,” sharp inhale—sharper exhale, you simply despised him.

Annoyance hung loose in the air, an open wound to you both.

“The only fate,” he paused—ears ringing unto the sound of footsteps—his daughters’, “is the one where you’re no more but a mere shadow in my life, monkey,” disgust all so prevalent on a pretty face as his—pity, really.

“So be it,” you nodded, a lick of your lips and a deal on the tongue, “no more a legal wife am i to you,”

“Be glad you could achieve that at all,” and just as quickly the somber mood had shifted to annoyance, it was back too—as the door clasped open, the twins rushing in to meet their new found mother.

Mother—oh just how hilarious the fate’s jokes lay.

A mother—a wife—a woman for his needs.

A week.

A week spent in solitude, the white ceiling, a new friendship you’d found, the dark wood flooring your vice as you suffered.

Day in and day out—seconds ticked by, slowly churning out the hours and eyes that lay moist

forever remained so.

You despised it all.

His expanse and his family, his charm and his style, his maids and his followers — his daughters, ah.

Something, perhaps you didn’t hate, that belonged to Geto, did exist.

Innocent smiles, the kind you’d never worn—hefty laughter he provided them with, his pride and his joy—now yours too, mutual a partnership the marriage was.

“Y/n,” they’d murmured excitedly, Nanako had— Mimiko's shy glances and little smiles, just as endearing.

A mother you’d become, how complicated.

But fickle was your happiness, just there and often never at all.

Your heart raced, ears perked up at the voice of approaching footsteps—daughter of Suguru Geto’s best hitman, a little too many tricks lay up your sleeves themselves.

Quick, soft, padded—your servants.

Loud, racy and sudden? His daughters.

Soundless? Suguru.

Thoughts proven none but correct, Suguru did stand bearer of your observation—a frown as always on the beautiful face.

And you wondered just how prettier it could be, if only he were gagged and stuffed aside.

“Get up,” words shuffled fast—frenzied, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Why?” Defiance, slight defiance in the form of annoyance presented to him you displayed, little impact but just enough—especially when he would let out a ragged sigh, holding himself back.

“Don't question me, now is not the time.”

Your heart soared giddily at that too—“What? Your blind followers realized your reality huh?”

A sharp gaze, piercing, bore into you.

Dead, at a finger’s flick if he wanted—but then again, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

So he did the next best thing that he’d realized in a week’s worth of time- the little smirk was wiped off quick as he kneeled close to you, so close.

“Shut the fuck up,” a whisper, all too serious, curious, you looked up at him.

“Get up,”

“No.”

Your head turned to the right sharp, a swift slap he’d landed on your cheek—it didn’t hurt,

you’d faced worse after all—but oh how it hurt you.

Apathetic, he stared.

Blankly, you stared back.

A moment of silence, heavy.

“Are you dumb?”

Silence again—you wanted to rip his hair out—“Get up,”

“Why?”

His voice, almost panicked now, it was weird.

A clench of his jaw and a brush of fingers through the hair—“Monkeys like you aren’t safe here, let me take care of it.”

And somehow, it warmed your heart.

“I can fight-”

“-yes and I know you’re hunter as passed down your lineage but shut the fuck up right now,”

Dumbly, you looked—“what is it? Some…” your mouth ran dry, “some attack?”

An unamused chuckle he was quick to let go—“no,” he paused, face reigning back to all his seriousness—“wouldn’t want my pretty wife to suffer,” his words felt fake, maybe they were.

You swallowed hard—“where to?”

“My chambers,”

Your heart sunk and yet you felt a rush of serotonin.

~3 years ago~

“Y/n,” Nanako’s voice dragged, “c’mon we’ll be late!” The constant sound of typing annoyed you—squinting eyes stared at her from a distance.

“Remind me why such enthusiasm again?”

“Papa’s dealing with non-sorcerers today,”

Again-as he had been, always.

“Mama,” the word rang in your mind—Mimiko’s voice was soft in contrast — Mama, a certain ring to it, familiarized and yet so antagonized in your head.

You hummed in response simply—“Papa requests you to be there tonight…” her words trailed away, the convocation all too loud, the impact all so evident.

“Right…” you let your words hang open as well—he wanted you present, in day and light, flesh and sight—his wife to be shown off.

Every once a while, you were his lucky charm after all.

Crowded, nauseating, full of idiots.

A dagger rested at your side, gift from no other than your Geto-Sama, two years ago—a

wedding gift.

You hated the fact that it was the best you could’ve managed to find.

Slow, the proceedings were, lazy his smirks as the likes of you begged.

As the monkeys begged to him.

“Headaches, nauseating? Hmm,” he smiled, pensive, reflective—“sounds to me like you’re troubled,” and just so, it amused you—to how dumb humans truly were.

Fickle-minded.

“Geto-Sama,” eyes squinted at the tone of the woman, a whimper—a common whore—begging for his touch in broad sunlight, for your husband’s touch.

Sure, you hated him—but oh how you hated the fact that he touched so many other women whilst being married to you.

And somehow, you always became the other woman.

“Yes darling?” He called back coolly, your blood boiled.

“I think…think you need to…” her words trailed away, a satisfied murmur erupting through the crowd—they remembered, remembered it well.

Engraved in the memory of most what you’d only caught the gist if, even as a rumour.

Suguru had fucked her—in front of them all.

In the name of all that was holy, all that was religious—he’d sworn it would help her—it made her addicted. One drug to another, Suguru did nothing, he would do nothing today

either perhaps.

Was this why he called you?

To humiliate you such?

“Ah ah ah,” click on pf his tongue, sharp—“Not in front of your goddess, don’t flatter yourself,”

Your heart burned.

Goddess, their goddess—you were their goddess—his goddess.

Jaw clenched, you stared from the side, distaste evident upon you and her—adorable, he deemed it.

“She’s nothing-”

-silence, as quick as she’d begun, just as quickly she retreated.

Beyond livid he seemed, amazing actor surely, never one to hear words against his precious wife.

A chuckle interrupted his thoughts and yours—“Oh Geto,” the suitor—the one Suguru’d been trying to impress—the one you’d been called upon for—to hit the nail on mark. The one who would sign his deal.

A continuity of a deep rumble — relevance all so long as Geto would decide.

“You act like she matters at all,” your stomachs dropped, he was right, was he not?

“What is she? A hunter?” Another prolonged chuckle—electing those from beside you as well, your ears hurt from how hot they were.

“Just a trophy wife for you isn’t she?” Unwantedly, even in moments such—of your disrespect, your eyes gazed onto him.

You hated the helplessness but…he was yours, right?

Something about the thin smile reassured you, it wasn’t much—not an ounce of anger reflected upon his face, if he felt any, that is.

You could feel the eyes of all, not the first time you’d been presented to the assembly, the first time the ruse you played was out.

“She’s my wife,” his voice was calm, “trophy or no is none of your business—she’s priced if anything—far more than you could ever afford, so think with that thick head of yours, at least once if you can manage before you dare to look at her.”

Definite—his words were fast, surprising all the more.

The laughter halted, silence was all so deafening, “You’re defending that slut before me Geto?” Shaky, the man’s voice was held—your grip tightened on your dagger.

Suguru’s smile only ever grew right beside you, “Do you want the honors darling?” You froze on spot.

Face whipped to face him, he could see the way your face shone—“Talk to me you fucker! That bloody bitch and your cult can’t do shit without me” His words rang through the hall as he did so—your feet worked upon its own.

“Just give me those whores beside you then,” he grinned further, directing his gaze onto Nanako and Mimiko.

A nodding smile from your husband being all that you need—swift you came, swift the man fell, mere seconds.

Bloods oozed, some rested upon your cheek just as much, three stab wounds—a drowning business deal of Geto—a sailing heart of yours and his smile.

The body twitched in dismay, adrenaline coursed through you—three years since you’d last killed something living, you couldn’t the feeling.

“Dismissed,” Suguru spoke aloud, basking in the shock of his followers and alike—however, yours too.

A hunter you were, sure, but not humans.

Never humans.

A sinner—his sinner.

Your body shook, the dagger fell quick, the moment the Hall was empty, just you and Suguru inside.

“What did you have them prepare for lunch today?” Domestic as if, normal, if he’d name it—acting as if a murderer did not just happen—the man’s body was still warm.

You offered none but a soft silence—“y/n?”

You hated him.

You hated everything.

You hated how he pretended to be confused by your moral dilemma.

“Can you stop?” A hiss of a voice—“you just- I- stop!”

Small an outburst, tears trickled the verge of falling apart.

“It’s fine,” he mused, “you can let go,”

“shut up,” you whispered fast- “don’t talk to me like that- like- like you’re superior. You just made me- fuck- I-”

A step all too close he took, “come here,” softly he spoke—uncharacteristic, why now?

After three years of an empty marriage—had he found your use? A hunter for him?

Not the first time you’d cried in front of him, many a confrontations had come and gone—many a times you’d thrown empty jars at him—many times he’d threatened you, all in vain.

So why now?

Empathetic all over a night? Couldn’t be.

Your heart paced, mind hurdled- hands held onto his form tightly as he did yours, body convulsing in his embrace, your kill lay astray, forgotten.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against your head—all so close, first time. And a thought you couldn’t help but withdraw—is this how those women felt? When he held them so close to where you’d never been?

“You did as you should’ve, a great wife you are,”

Sheer shambles your heart lay in—you wanted to hate him, perhaps you did—most probably, not.

“Why?” You whispered, pressed deep into his chest—an almost soothing hand upon your back rubbed, all so confused—both him and you.

“Figured you’d like it,” he smiled, “you’re not a pawn y/n,” a fumbling kiss pressed on your forehead, the spot was now sacred.

“You’re the queen on the board and it was wrong simply to let go the potential,”

“Why all this? Why now?”

An urge to pull away, an urge to ingrain yourself in him.

An empty marriage—all too loud your desires.

“You’re their goddess aren’t you?” He didn’t sound sweet anymore, it was all real—you knew so.

Two weeks since your outburst, two weeks since he’d held you for the first time—two weeks, you’d suffered all so much.

Mentally, emotionally—physically.

It was absurd, you’d spent three years still, yearning just some touch—but now more so than ever, you would perhaps beg for him.

A shared bed you lay in, the heat in your heart was

scorching—nothing close however to the desire between your legs.

You craved him.

“You’ll accompany me tomorrow?” fingers clasped right around the book he was reading, he didn’t do so much as glance at you—yet, it was somehow endearing.

Gradual was the display from being ordered by his servants to show up when he pleases you to, to his daughters requesting you—to him, personally recommending it, it was sweet.

You knew you were grasping on broken ends—but just something to the fallen was miraculous enough.

You poised to think, “WAR AND PEACE”- Leo Tolstoy, hefty the handler, heftier its state, creased in the middle—whitening, pages browned years ago and a certain scent you couldn’t place.

Golden were the words still, it shone.

A simple “well?” From him broke your trance, a nod you passed.

Second time in the past fortnight, perplexed you say by, watching moments tick by, unsure.

“Should I carry the dagger?” Same question as you’d asked last week—same reply awaited you, the same cunning smile, “Just your presence is enough,”

“23, 594 of you,” Suguru spoke in the same sweet tone of his—a mistake his words held.

A tilt to the right, to correct him or no—you sucked in any air, perhaps your last.

“Not a simple feat it-”

“-25, 394,” your voice was low, had the crowd been that of a murmuring one, it would have gone unheard—not from him perhaps, but in general.

Not a glance spared, just a single smirk, “Ah, of course.” A lick of his lips and a look downturned, “I apologise—how sweet of my wife to remind me,”

My wife.

Amusing how you still shivered at the thought of it.

The rest of his words were a blur, his tone was hollow right after the apology—the same as you’d heard when he was upset—mad.

When he’d condemned your family.

“Leave,” the words seemed final, a tear rolled down your eyes.

“Geto-Sama,” your father panted, pathetic—simply so, no deniance to it.

“Please,” three days you’d been beggin, three days that Geto Suguru had stripped you all of any and every sense of dignity, of some thought of self preservation.

A scoff you heard, heart shattering—as eyes gazed onto the sight of your crawling father- a hitched breath, Suguru’s eyes lay stuck on you.

“The debt,” Suguru mused quietly, “you want it forgiven?”

Your father nodded at his feet—broken sobs your mother flushed, sister’s nimble fingers upon yours—you hated Geto Suguru.

Perhaps that was exactly why you found yourself such.

Hating his woes, his breaths and his ideology—perhaps all lay a lie.

Perhaps you hated him for the humiliation he granted that day, 6 years ago.

“You’re nothing but a monkey, you know that,” Suguru mused simply, “But you are one of my best,” a hun he passed to second himself.

Eyes, obsidian as they bore into yours—“What’s your name?”

Quick, you almost didn’t catch his words, “y/n,” your father weakly muttered before letting out a pained cry—result of none but a kick from Suguru.

“I was talking to her,” a lazy smirk he adorned, “hunter?” He inquired, a nod you passed.

“Skilled?” And that you were, having served so many over the years—skilled you simply were.

“You can have her,” your father’s words lay rushed—heart seizing up deep. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- your mother wouldn’t.

“Virgin?”

“We can offer a fine dowry lord,” pants, his—gasps, yours—“Uoull be doing us a favour, in fact two.”

The man’s face flits curiously between the two of you. You wonder if he can see the embarrassed tears threatening the corners of your eyes, the set of your lips, the way your fingers are clenching and shaking.

Your heart raced, face flushed—your parents eyes’, your sister’s, all trained upon you.

What a pity—a shake of your head, Suguru’s smirk widened as he knelt onto your level.

“Whoever would marry a used whore hm?” It was the exact smooth voice that you hated—the exact low grumble you feared.

“Fuck off,” the words were quick to slip out—perhaps, not appropriate but you regretted not a single moment.

Not your mother’s gasps or your father’s tremble or Suguru and his furrowed brows.

“You’re talking to a god,” he whispered—“I don’t worship a fraud.” Your reply was defiant—the situation was bared.

A made up god among men and a woman who would never worship him—and hence came about the dilemma when the god simply found his religion in the woman.

“Interesting,” he’d hummed then, the same smile that he wore then in the assembly, three years after your marriage.

A padded thumb reached into your cheek—wiping your tears away roughly—“I think you’ll be just as useful as your father,” he grinned, and something told you he’d use you in ways more than just a hunter.

“You’ll be a better pet right?”

Before you could gasp, before you could cry—before any sense of grief had caught you, fate had tied its strings with a man you deemed a monster—and the monster to his angel.

The assembly took a good while to finish, 2 hours you sat, anticipating everything.

Something told you Suguru wouldn’t go tough on you—usually, he’d have someone humiliated to no extent but…you were his better half—not you, right?

“Dismissed,” he muttered as always, you couldn’t help the squirming anymore.

The last two hours you’d suffered, the wetness in you edging onto itself at the worst time possible—everytime he’d make eye contact, every time he’d glare.

“Not you,” your heart dropped, you stood as a deer in headlight then — just about to step out of the room as everyone else had.

“Come here,”

You swallowed hard—“I- I am sorry my lord I didn’t-”

“I didn’t ask you to talk monkey,” a slight pang to the heart—two weeks of overthinking was all down the drain, it didn’t mean anything perhaps.

Slowly, you trudged over, near to his feet—as close as he’d let you for the last time.

Cold eyes met you, blank a face and hair brushed open—“kneel,” he simply commanded, most days you’d have fought back- earned yourself a reprimand but not that day.

What you had was enough already.

From your position, you stared up at him—lips parted as small breaths you let out.

A moment of silence while you watched him take off the yakuta, slender a form inside—the one you’d watched simply all too many times.

“You think you’re smart hm?” Your body shook, blame put on the coldness, you let yourself shiver—passing him a shake of the head.

“Geto-Sama I-”

“-is it that difficult an instruction?” Sharp a voice, it pierced through you, “don’t talk unless I fucking tell you to.”

A frenzied nod, any deniance to be passed onto him leaving your body as you gazed upon him, ethereal—and maybe, just maybe, the fraud of a god you hated was not all so bad a money to adore.

“Thought you looked cute correcting me hm?” Ever so serene a voice, one couldn’t almost differentiate whether he truly was upset or not.

Another shake of your head, another tug at his lips.

“No?” Squinted eyes stared at you, “then attention? You wanted attention?” Your ears felt hot pink, maybe you did.

“I wouldn’t be shocked honestly,” he paused, squatting down to your level, “your father did offer me a whore,” bottom lip clasped between your teeth, you dared not to look up at him—afraid simply of the hot tears spilling.

“What is it, hm?” A large hand raised to flick the hair of your forehead—“Jealous, are we?”

Clenched jaw, you stared at the ground—audacious he was to even question it—“but that shouldn’t be it right? A legal marriage is what you promised eh?”

Too smug his voice lay, you hated him.

His hand rested at your cheek, hot to the touch—searing cold to the testament—“what was it then? An attention seeker? Or a whore?”

A ragged breath you let out—“You think it’s hilarious?” Your eyes stared down into his, “to make a fool out of me?”

The hurt in your voice was no less than prevalent, it echoed still.

“You fuck women left and right like it’s nobody’s business-”

“-oh it is about that hm?” A short chuckle he passed, euphoric to the ear, “you are a jealous bitch after all,”

“Cut it out Suguru,”

His brows raised too, and internally—yours, at the courage of calling him such, “You don’t respect me but at least respect the wedding,”

“With a monkey?” It angered you as to how deep just a couple of his words could cut—‘a monkey’ you’d never be his equal.

“Yes, with a monkey—with your wife—with the woman your daughters seek a mother in,” quick you spoke—desperate to get it all out—“The woman you’ve turned into a murderer,”

Another short laugh.

“And now it’s about that is it?”

Your blood boiled—to see him treating it all so insignificantly, “you made me-”

“-made you kill him? You killed a monkey darling, an animal of incoherent thinking. You should be glad. If anything I did you favors by granting you the opportunity to regain your skills, which are impeccable if I may,”

A tug here, a tug there— your heart was torn at his words.

“Further, you liked it—you like everything I do,”

A desperate no spilled of your lips—meaningless.

Maybe you did like it—maybe you did like the way he took you away from that monster of a father, maybe you did like the way he isolated you, gave you all to hone your skills and what not, maybe you did like the little shows of affection because you were starved.

Maybe you were simply naive.

A series of clicking sounds of his tongue entered your ears—“you create ruckus over such things hm darling?” He got up again, “calls for a punishment doesn’t it?”

A final plea you passed—broken.

“Suguru please,” shaky, “I just- you can’t fuck women like that, the servants spread rumours and- and- its all so-”

“Strip and get on all fours,” lower an octave, his voice was serious, you bit your lips and complied.

No other choice-dead at his feet otherwise, with a fate worse.

Slow, your fingers moved to take off all that was left of your decency—never the first time that you’d stripped for a man, but the first time you felt the lingering gaze.

All down to the matching set of lingerie that he’d gifted you—every once in a while as he did, a sought compensation for his actions mayhaps.

“Faster unless you wish to lengthen your punishment?” A quick shake of your head, your face felt hot, fingers twisted into the waistband of your panties —silk and lacy, almost As if innocent—as you slowly pulled them your lower half, feet tugging them off.

Bra forced away the same, shame enveloped you—not strong enough for all of you stood exposed, a cry of mercy to the god all in vain—for all too apparent, your supposed god was a fraud.

A step taken slow towards Suguru, you were interrupted with a cough—“You’re a what y/n?”

Mind blank, you stared dumbly—and exasperated sigh he let out until you finally responded, “A monkey,”

A nod of encouragement, he smirked, “and monkeys don’t walk right?”

Heights of your shame were peaking with every second passed, no other option to substitute, you nodded back—down on all fours as you crawled over to him.

The carpet was coarse underneath your knees, it hurt—not more so than your mind.

“Already so pliant sweetheart,” too giddy a voice, you wanted to punch him—but perhaps this was far better than what that would entail.

You reached over to him shortly, “only had you been all so quiet from the very beginning…but oh how does it matter now,” a grin sounded to your ears—you wanted to cry.

“All so naked,” he was walking about you now—all so exposed you stood, “so vulnerable—is this what you wanted?”

Your ears burned.

“Jealous of the women I fuck in front of my followers right? Would you want to be fucked the same? I could summon them now—” another short chuckle, “their god with their goddess.”

You swallowed hard, lips licked as you awaited—unsure of what he could do.

“Tell me, does the thought make you wet?”

“No,” lies—you knew it, and you hated yourself at that.

A hum sincere, was all he passed—“alright then. Since you do love running your mouth all so much, your tongue and hands—”

Your ears ringed as the sight of the man you’d killed flashed in front of you—“25 strokes.”

Eyes wide you stared at the ground.

A silence awaited his words and he sighed loudly.

“Say yes or does my whore want more?”

Another silence—soon he was right ahead of you—a sharp slap soon adding to the sting on your face.

Tears took no time, resting at the verge—you stared up at him, broken a voice meeting him.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered softly—trembling at the look of it—not even sure what the apology was for.

“Please please please don’t I can’t-” and somewhere along your blurred sight, his eyes softened all too little—“15.” He decided silently.

You nodded, knowing the bargain had gone deep— lowering your head, unsure of the entirety.

“Spread your legs,” he murmured, you winced slightly as you did so—the texture of the carpet felt rough—your predicament all the more.

“Count and thank me after each,” and all before you could agree— smack! The first smack struck hard.

Your eyes widened and a sharp inhale—“One—thank you Geto-Sama,” he nodded in confinement, satisfied Mayhaps, to your words.

His hand rested along the round of your ass—squeezing it, feeling it around—another smack alternated on the other cheek—“Two! Thank you Geto-Sama,”

Another squeeze—another exhale, you could feel your wetness spread.

The third strike was on the same spot as before—a pink tint added already to your ass, he adored the way you felt in his hand—“Three— thank you Geto-sa-! Ah!” You bit hard onto your lip as in the midst of your count he landed another strike at the same spot and another.

“F-four and five! Thank you Geto-Sama,” a ‘good girl’ he murmured right after, and even such—humiliated to all accords, his praise did none but cause you to feel butterflies right there.

And just there you also hated how his slaps could provide you the pleasure you hadn’t been able to.

The same cycle went on, remaining 9 spanks hit hard as before— a grab and squeeze offered in the midst of each.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss one of your reddened cheeks—warm to his lips as his other hand smacked onto the other cheek.

“Spread your legs further,” and you did, afraid to upset him anymore.

And all to your surprise, suddenly you felt a finger probe your pussy lips—beyond ashamed you could help the weak whimper and desperate cry from escaping.

“Tch tch tch,” another sharp smack on your ass, “So wet? From a spanking?”

Another whimper as your head only ever lowered in response—“or was it thought of getting off in public huh?” You could feel his tough hands tease you, he wouldn’t enter, no—just tease your slit for the hell of it.

“So pathetically turned on f’me,” he groaned—face up right against your gaping hole, inhaling sharply and taking in your scent.

“N-no,” you protested, halted only by another mean slap on your ass—“Don’t lie to the man you worship,” another nod, he’d already broken you.

The pretend disappointment was sheerly evident in his voice—his expressions, “Well I cannot really move further until you’re punished thoroughly darling,” his words sounded almost calming, even when you knew they were all so not.

The tip of his fingers were slow, slowly gliding across your glistening pussy—your inner thigh—squelch!

Eyes wide, a gasp erupted from your mouth as his large palm landed flat against your folds.

“I don’t think it’s your fault however, it’s her issue isn’t it?” Words so sweet, you only ever could think of succumbing to him—finally passing a weak nod.

“Ah ha,” he smiled to himself—impressed perhaps—“That’s a smart girl, now how many do you think are appropriate for her hm?” As he spoke, his fingers wouldn’t be called shy in the way they inspected you—gathering your slick from your hole, never entering enough to please, and leading it up to your asshole—dirty.

A sense of dread coursed through you, involuntarily you tried turn around to beg him not to—another sharp slap, a sob from you.

“5?” Your voice was soft—and somehow, even in his moments of pure power Suguru couldn’t help but want to be kind to you.

And this time, he hated it.

“5 it is,” he murmured, pressing his fingers upright to your pussy lips—“Count, no need to thank this time,”

Slowly his hands already your thighs further apart—shame no more a blanket, you could only moan at the shy touches to your core.

His hands stroked your inner thighs slowly—easing you out, you knew the trick of course, as a hunter must and even then a sharp inhale and “sh-it,” you spoke as his hand Landed on your pussy.

“One,” you called out meekly, and unlike the slaps he used to redden your ass, these weren’t all so pleasurable.

Without a word he landed another—your body lurched forward just the slightest—“Two!” Your voice trembled at his touch, especially in the way he dragged his fingers all so close to your clit and then landed the third spank.

“You’re taking it so good sweetheart,” a mess, a sincere mess is all you were—breaking apart at his touch and words- all so unsure of how you felt.

The last two Spanks were a blur, broken sobs eliciting your throat at them too as finally Suguru caressed your hips— held it soft, smothered it with slight kisses—as if he cared.

“Think you deserve a reward now, monkey?” A whine escaped you at the reference to the animal he deemed everyone else as—and yet another “Yes please,”

You knew better than to hope he’d have pleased you but all how it went, you could help the slight disappointment in you when he sat across you—spreading his legs.

An amused chuckle he let out at your expressions—“You really didn’t think I’d touch a used up pussy as yours eh?”

He would—oh how he desperately wanted to—your eyes remained down cast.

“C’mere be a good slut and get me off,” hesitant was the way you crawled over to him nestling yourself between his legs—hesitant, yes but eager all the more.

And just the same his other followers felt engulfed by the need to please him.

Fingers fumbled with his belt for a second before a raised brow from him stopped you—“did I tell you to take it off?”

Your breath hitched- confused you gazed up to meet an annoyed expression, “Do only as much as you’re told to, don’t true that pretty mind of yours.”

All the encouragement you needed as you slowly raised your face up to his crotch—“Go on,” he murmured, placing his hand at the back of your head—and just so you found your face pressed hard against his crotch, taking in the musky smell— your eyes watered with the pressure he held you with, your pussy grew wetter with the avoidance he lay.

Soft whines you let out against the thin fabric of his underpants as your fingers gripped onto his toned thighs.

You could feel the thick outline of his dick—not that you lay experienced much but that would certainly be big as it went.

His hand stroked your hair softly and pulled you away too—“pull them down,” he ordered and fervently your fingers pulled the waist of the only fabric covering him down—his hardened dick spring out at once.

You fought all urges to touch it at once—looking right into his eyes, awaiting any command.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he shifted his hips to angle himself better—“Tongue out,” he muttered softly, staring at your face.

Adorable to him.

On your knees you say, tongue out and mouth wide as you watched him drag the tip of his cock and slap it against your cheeks twice—demeaning you usually would’ve found it—now you craved it dearly.

Three slaps he lay on your tongue from his tip still—plap! Plap! Plap!— salty it tasted, his Precum.

“Take it all in,” none to your surprise, you were quick to try your best—you know you couldn’t, but to try was the way to go.

“Don’t suck just yet,” he commanded, as his dick lay inside the warmth of your mouth—you wanted to gag immediately, pull away.

“Keep it there,” he whispered, the large hand gayab at the back of your throat, keeping you from pulling away.

Tears were quick to rush down your cheeks as you struggled to gag—the slight pull and an annoyed glare from him.

All too quick he pulled out of your mouth.

“Don’t fucking pull away,” a warning, “cry all you want—fucking throw up from gagging I don’t care, but don’t pull away,” you nodded through your tears as you took a second to catch your breath.

“Again,” he said and again, you began.

It was tough to breathe, yes, and hard not to pull away but a look at his blissful face and you couldn’t help it—“start sucking, slow,”

And that you did, tears dried as more came a afresh, you sucked slowly onto his tip and length—weak whimpers seemed guttural as you rocked your face back and forth onto his length.

“You know why- ha- ah,” he paused, moaning, as you teased him slight, “I let you do this?”

His eyes scanned your pretty face, sucking him all so good—trying your best to please him.

“So you remember that mine is the hand that feeds you,” just then his hands balled up your hair into a fist, rough, he pulled you.

“So you- shit! Suckin’ me like the slut you are huh?” Broken gasps he let out as well as he pushed his length down your throat.

As much as you hated him having the reigns, to see him lose composure was a beautiful process.

“That feels so fucking good — ahah — I'm not pleased with you fuck j-just can't believe how good it feels to — fuck — ahhhuh — yeah that's a perfect little slut, just take your master’s cock like you're meant to."

You couldn’t see from down there, his eyes rolling back but you knew it was tough for him to sit still—god how you loved it.

“Listen darling,” he began yet again—his fist was quick to pull your face away from his cock, all to yours and his displeasure.

He held you by the hair—a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick hung loosely.

“Always fucking remember that you’re the one begging to be fed by me—not the other fucking way around,” you wanted to nod but all that let out was small whines.

“Geto-Sama, please,” you cried, “pleasepleaseplease let me- fuck- let me help. Want you to- to mark me? Please will you?”

Suguru fought hard to suppress the moan he wanted to out—he hated that he loved seeing you this way—he hated how he wanted to see you such everyday.

He hated how for the past three years he’d wanted this but how he loved you.

Oh how he loved his silly.

And just as that his length was shoved deep into your mouth again—and internal conflict in his mind as he face fucked you senseless—he just wanted you carnally and you, him.

Not long did it take before you knew he was close.

“Stay right there, fuck — oh my god I'm close. I'm so fucking close. Gonna fill up that mouth, stuff it so good not a drop spills out.”

And at that, without another word he came inside—a warm gush in your mouth as you struggled to keep it all in—to please him—hot and sticky as he slowly pulled out of your mouth.

“So pretty,” he murmured as his fingers tapped your cheek—hinting at you to swallow it all.

Suguru watched as your tired body panted and lay still on his form—head resting against his thigh.

A soft hand brushed through your hair, a gentle smile as he wrapped the Yakuta around your naked body.

In hindsight, maybe he would regret it—but in the present of this entirely, he loved it.

He loved you.

Two weeks, suguru’s heart had churned—perhaps more than yours—to have you lay against him for the past three years was no issue, not until he knew your heart was opening up to him.

And something in him fought him to have him now that that, was a bad idea.

He realized now that, that something was all too stupid a thought—especially when he could now carry your body softly, pressed up against his chest as he Carried you to the shared chambers, his chambers.

Oh how he loved you being his.

A monkey—his mind called out, the woman I love, his heart snapped back.

It was confusing, to him and you and everyone around—that he was all so enamored by you—nothing more of a simple hunter you were, skilled yes, but it wouldn’t add up.

But then he’d look at the serene expression on your face as he slept and everything senseless would fall back—as he fell in love a little more when your fingers clasped onto his when he was pulling away.

~now~

Day and night.

Slowly they passed.

The first year, then the second and then third—all the way to five years and there you sat, right beside him, regal.

Don’t get me wrong, you perhaps still hate him and he despises you too—but it is in the certain way, that every third night you’re clamping down on his form and he holds you softly right after—“I love you” muttered by neither.

He wasn’t sure on to why it was the way it was.

He hated monkeys, you were one—so equally, he must also hate you—and yet, his heart ached the day your father thrust your hand into his.

He’d seen you before that day still, running about, aloof—you enjoyed your craft—he’d enjoyed seeing you do so. Marriage to him was simply a barrier to your skills—he knew that, and yet not being married to him was a barrier to mayhaps a comfortable life.

Never before Had Suguru pitied monkeys such—and yet, to the see the tears roll down your eyes, he felt captivated.

In the way the silence of his halls was dimmed when his daughters would call for you—in the way you unnecessarily commanded his house—as if you held that power.

But then, mostly you did.

In the way you held pillows all too close to yourself to feel some warmth—in the way you used the pillows as a means of a boundary between the two.

In the way you forced yourself to hate him, in the way you whimpered against his touch.

Everything.

And anything.

All he knew deep down was he wanted you happy, with him and often, without him.

“Do you know this man?” The words rolled off his tongue smooth, you stared intently at the man bowing at your feet.

“No,” words were often simple lies when you stood beside him in that assembly, the man, once referred to as your father, inhaled sharp at your words.

Suguru’s smirk only widened—your mother and sister long gone perhaps, you didn’t know, you didn’t care.

Suguru never let you care.

“He’s committed a crime,” Suguru motioned to the crowd awaiting—“A dire crime,” his eyes now trained upon you—“And as always, our goddess here will help us ride of it, yes?”

Not the first time you’d been asked—two years, the first murder you’d committed and since then, that’s how Suguru used you.

The best hunter he had, his prized one.

His hand wound around you softly, a creep to your abdomen—“wanna play a game?”

The blood inside you rushed—it didn’t matter.

None of it.

You’d killed plenty monkeys, Suguru adored you simply as you did and you did too—but today was different.

Today, stood in front of you, a true criminal.

Blood of monkeys never bothered you—you were their deity, Suguru had reminded you every time you cried—they were honored to die at your hands.

The wood that surrounded you was thick—beautiful really, especially for a game of hide-and-seek.

A shove he passed to your father, rough—“Run,” he ordered, dark eyes softening as they landed upon you.

“Kill him in 2 hours and I’ll let take over tonight,” a smile sketched onto your lips—“and if not…” a similar smile etched onto

his.

Legs sprawled beside his head—your fingers clutched hard onto the sheet beneath.

“Suguru,” your voice drew out—a whine, “Please…” you cried out softly as his tongue lapped onto your clit.

“Please what darling?” A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh—another whine.

“I was just 7 minutes late,” your dirtied clothes lay away forgotten—the neat white towels he’d used to wipe the blood off of you—used to cleanse and purify you again lay just beside his head as you tugged on hair harshly.

A soft giggle he let out—“7 minutes too late baby- you knew the punishment right? Let me edge you thrice more now, be a good pet.”

And another giggle he passed, eliciting a sharp cry of his name when he pressed his tongue flat on your clit.

And Suguru loved this, so Did you.

Your god and his goddess.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

Tags: @illogicallyx @myrand0mfand0mbl0g @rizzmin @lavendervogh @kazoomas @gojoismybitch @mistyheart @spaceisfarfarawayy @4sat0ruu @isentsworld @gl0ri0us-l0ve @playboicartina @hiomi-hiomi @misaki-the-lotusflower @abitoldschool @immurrsed @bbytamaki @hqkalon (no because thanks for the amazing words frfr)

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lukecastellanshandholder · 4 months ago

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You do understand that Luke groomed and used teenagers, also asked a teenager if she loved from when she was sixteen and he was 23…

(I only dislike Luke, I don’t completely hate him, but reading your account description made me wonder…)

*sigh* ok, I’m going to try my very best to be nice and explain Luke’s character. (I only say this because I’ve made countless posts about these things already, but you seem new so I’ll explain)

First of all, Luke himself was groomed by Kronos for about 2 whole years before the events of The Lightning Thief took place. Kronos started coming to Luke in his dreams shortly after his quest to retrieve a golden apple from the Garden of Hesperides. Kronos came to Luke with his offer to help him dethrone the gods when he was upset and thinking irrationally because of his (very justified) anger towards Hermes. After this, Kronos continued to haunt Luke’s dreams, making him think that they both had the same goals.

Luke had always wanted a better life for demigods and for their godly parents to treat them better, he never wanted to hurt other demigods (as is plainly said in The Diary of Luke). While Kronos just wanted to gain power over Olympus again and to reshape the world. However, Kronos convinced Luke that he didn’t want to bring harm to demigods and that he could help Luke achieve his goal.

When Luke started to realize that Kronos just wanted power and that he no longer wanted to help Kronos, Kronos tortured him with nightmares. He was verbally and mentally abusive, driving Luke to near insanity until he broke and became Kronos’ perfect little soldier.

“But Luke groomed and used teenagers!” First of all, what do you think that the gods and Chiron do to all of the children at camp Half blood? They use those poor kids to run their errands and fight their wars under the guise of offering protection from monsters in the mortal world. And Camp half blood had been around long before the Titan Army was established.

Secondly, do you think that the gods are such good parents to their children that they didn’t have other kids who would willingly want to dethrone them? Because we have at least 2 examples of demigods who wanted to dethrone the gods for their own reasons. Ethan Nakamura and Alabaster Torrington. Ethan could’ve cared less about putting Kronos in power, he just wanted minor gods and their children to be treated better. Then Alabaster couldn’t have cared less about Luke but did want to see Kronos in power only because he would treat his mother, Hecate, better than Zeus did. So to say that Luke groomed every demigod who joined is completely ignoring the fact that the gods were terrible parents who have wronged so many of their children.

And third, Kronos was the one who wanted that army to fight against the army that Camp Half Blood had been building for years. Kronos was the one with all of the control, because once a demigod joined they were put under a haze. They were under Kronos’s influence and didn’t come out of it until Luke killed Kronos. So to blame Luke for the use of those demigods is also completely ignoring who had the true power in the situation. The gods and the Titans started this feud hundreds of years ago, Luke, Percy and the other demigods were just dragged into it.

Now about the whole Annabeth thing. I’m 100% sure that when Luke asked her if she had loved him, it was meant as in platonic/ familial love. As we see in The Diary of Luke (the only story that we ever see from Luke’s POV) we always see him thinking of Annabeth as nothing but a little sister or even a daughter. The only person that we ever see him show romantic feelings towards is Thalia when they were on the run together before going to camp. Well, except for Kelli, but I feel like that’s a special kind of situation.

“But Percy said-.” Percy is the most unreliable narrator out there, and he was a jealous teenage boy. Of course when Percy has a huge crush on Annabeth and he hears Luke ask Annabeth if she loved him, that Percy is going to think he meant it in a romantic way! He doesn’t have all of the information about practically anything going on! Now I’m not saying anything against Percy, but again he didn’t have all of the information and was just going off of what he thought he knew.

“But Annabeth said in the Heroes of Olympus series that-!” In this situation, Annabeth is also an unreliable narrator. Think about it, if you have or had a crush on someone and they asked you if you ever liked or loved them, aren’t you going to automatically assume that they mean it in the same way as you do? Aren’t you going to assume that they meant in a romantic way and think that they also had a crush on you? And again, I’m not saying anything bad against Annabeth but, the only time we get to hear from Luke’s POV about Annabeth he’s always referring to her as his little sister. So, are we going to believe what Luke says in his own point of view? Or are we going to believe what two people without all of the information think Luke meant?

So yeah, if you were wondering if I like Luke, the answer is yes! He’s one of my absolute favorite characters because his story is so interesting and intriguing to me.

No, I don’t blame Luke for what the gods and Kronos caused. I don’t think that he’s some evil monster like most of the fandom seems to think he is for some reason. Luke is a victim of the gods and Kronos. He was used just like every other demigod and in the end, died a hero.

I hold the actual villains of the story (Kronos and the gods) accountable for their actions instead of just blaming everything on one of their victims.

#hope this helps #luke castellan #asks #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians

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rjthirsty · 5 months ago

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Major IkePri Spoilers!!

.CW: fictional child abuse and reference to SA

I wish I could draw just so I can share how utterly ridiculous I see the previous king. (By the way, my phone auto'd "penis" for previous, and I thought that was suitting).

Here you have this dude who was supposedly so awesome that Corline (sp? Jin's mother) not only thought he was the best candidate for king but fell so in love with him that she still loved him even after she was exiled by nobility. But there is nothing at all to like about him. Not a single person has something nice to say except Sariel.

So I just see the king standing next to this murderous orphan that he sort of kidnapped, brought to the palace, groomed, decided killing was not a job he should be doing and instead told him to take care of his 7 other kids he never spoke to while he's out there kidnapping women and raping others...

So, they're standing there, yeah?

And behind him is all the fucked up things his real kids he abandoned had to live through, like good twin (not going into all that abuse), or having your mother throwing things at you calling you a monster, or literally being forced to replace her dying son or be killed, or being the child of rape, or being the child of rape, or nearly dying from poverty, or nearly dying from poverty. Yes, I said each of those twice because it applies twice.

And the king looks at this black haired kid and says, "Am I a good person?" And young Sariel, who thinks having something to eat each day is just the best thing ever! Not realizing he is now fulfilling the role of a father to 7 boys only slightly younger than him, his eyes glittery and wide with wonder at how kind this shit stain can be eagerly agrees.

Anyways, I just finished the current event stories and always hate how Sariel idolizes the former king. And this time, they got Jin in on it with him wondering if he was nicer to his asshole father if he would not have ended up so terrible. THAT FUCKING GUILT, YO.

Jin, dude, the man was already a rapist and worse by then. You should know that at your 32 years of age, child you did no wrong by avoiding him.

#ikepri #rant post #ikemen prince #the former king is a raging hemorrhoid that won't heal #change my mind #but really don't #because there is no excuse for that piece of shit

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kylobith · 7 days ago

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Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 4 of 7

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Epilogue

Summary: As Éorhild assumes her duties as Éomer's lady-in-waiting, she finds a semblance of peace in the proximity of her beloved prince, shielded from the weight of consequence. But nothing is ever as easy as it seems.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Word count: 12,846 (I so apologise for that)

Read it on AO3 here.

‘You stayed.’

Éomer’s utterances, still tinged with the remnants of his agitated slumber, bore the weight of both observation and inquiry. In his tormented reverie the night prior, he had resigned himself to the likelihood of being awakened by a different maid, if not by Edelmer himself. He had braced himself for the eventuality that their brief encounter in her new allocated chamber had concluded their friendship, or whatever it was that they had shared, and that their eyes were destined never to meet again.

To be proven wrong had never felt sweeter to the prince.

And so, he beheld her. Just for a moment longer. A twinkle of indescribable elation illuminated his eyes, dancing within them, while a giddy smile etched dimples into his cheeks. His joy was so profound that, for once, he paid no mind to his dishevelled appearance in her presence, his hair tangled from restless tossing and turning when sleep would not yet grace him with its veil of dreams. He, who for the past months had unconsciously devoted more of his time to the grooming of his beard and hair in anticipation of their next meeting by the hearth, felt no compunction about presenting himself in one of his most unadorned states. Deep down, he knew that she would never think any less of him for it. If there was any kind soul in this world to whom he would gladly bare his heart and display his real self, it was Éorhild.

It would always be Éorhild.

A tender smile graced his new chambermaid’s lips as she walked around the bed, delicately setting the tray with his morning repast upon his lap.

‘Fresh bread, a glass of cider, a piece of chicken adorned with melted cheese, and some potato slices flavoured with the finest spices. On the side, I have added some grapes if you are still hungry,’ she announced softly, maintaining a professional demeanour despite their albeit confusing intimacy. ‘I ensured that the chicken’s skin was cooked to a crisp, as you love it.’

His still-waking mind was lured out of the fog of slumber by the mingling aromas emanating from his plate. They evoked childhood memories of his late mother, who so often sheltered him within her embrace while eating at the royal table under Meduseld’s arches. Her ordinarily solemn composure she maintained in the company of courtiers, was kept at bay in his presence. Instead of ceremonious phrases rehearsed beforehand, flows of affectionate and playful words would spill from her lips, only to be heard by him. In time Éowyn did hear them too, but there once was a time when he was the sole receiver of such cherishing. Then, the darkening clouds in the east was a concern kept away from his guiltless mind. He still had time, his mother would say. It mattered more for him to remain in good health and on a saddle.

His chambermaid suppressed the urge to lay a hand over her stomach as the scents reached her in turn. Though without voice, they told of people from across the continent, of flavours without borders. They carried the songs of the sowers and reapers who nurtured the crops until they were ready for trade. The billowing vapour still bore the undulations of the river’s currents, licking at the barges ferrying the spices to new lands. An earthy bouquet fated to caress his tongue whispered of craggy mountain passes and ancient rocks paving the path for carts to reach the Golden City. They were born of the ground to taunt her, born to prepare them for others and never taste them herself.

Perceiving the slight pinch of her lips, Éomer shifted towards the centre of the bed and gestured to the vacant space beside him.

‘Please, do join me. Have you had your breakfast yet?’

Éorhild merely bowed her head, crossing her hands over her pressed thighs. After she had greeted and announced herself to Edelmer in the kitchens, she had endeavoured to feast on a cold salted bun. Naught more. The labour of her first tasks had already whetted her appetite, so conflicted her emotions had remained in the morn.

‘Thank you, but I need none, your Majesty.’

‘None of this, Éorhild, I beg of you!’ the prince pleaded, holding out his hand for her to grasp. ‘Are we strangers to each other now? Must I be punished so by indifference for having my heart stir at your sight?’

Silence met his beseechment. Fear still scorched her soul despite her decision to retain the position of chambermaid. She needed not speak it. He could sense it in her gaze so far averted from him, longing for every second she would allow him to hold it. Now that the court’s conventions permitted her to observe the royal family and touch her prince, it appeared a colossal weight that he was guilty of placing upon her innocent shoulders.

Yet his perception only resembled Éorhild’s dismay in part. It was not so much the weight of the demands entwined with the hardship of her new duty which caused her every joy to fester in its bud. It was rather her distrust in her own capacity to remain proper should their eyes meet again. Her wits were crumbling with every shared glance; when all would be ruined, what would dissuade her from claiming his lips where anybody could see? The king’s wrath would no longer constitute a threat, for she would dismiss the consequences of her passion on a whim.

For her sake and Éomer’s, she had to shun his affection. But how would she find the strength, when her very soul was consumed by the will to be his?

‘Éorhild, I can hear your stomach fussing. Please, do eat with me. I am not inviting you as a lover, but as a friend who cares about your well-being.’

Stunned out of a response, Éorhild shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The prince exhaled and dragged himself out of bed, clad in naught but his night shirt. He strode over to a small table across from the footboard of his bed, swept his belongings aside, dusted it off, and set his desk chair by its side.

‘If you do not find it in yourself to join my bed, even chastely, let us break our fast in a proper manner. Please, sit.’

Aware that she had little reason to decline now that her body had betrayed her hunger, she complied and lowered herself into the seat. He set the tray down upon the table and nudged it towards her as he sat on a stool on the other side. She hesitantly picked a potato slice and nibbled at it, a flush of embarrassment creeping over her at the idea of the prince observing her as she ate. Not wanting to upset her further, Éomer imitated her, using his bare hands instead of the lavish cutlery she had brought him. If she did not use them, neither would he.

‘Why have you chosen to stay, if I may ask?’ he whispered. ‘I was certain that I was never to be in your presence again, and you do not seem to rejoice at the thought of being a chambermaid either.’

She finally looked at him. A blush warmed her cheeks as her attention lingered on his dishevelled tresses, stirring an unexpected longing within her to smooth them with her fingertips.

‘I had chosen to decline at first,’ she confessed, ‘but as soon as I found myself before Edelmer this morning, my heart dictated me to stay. I could not explain it, my lord. Instead of resigning and asking to be replaced as your chambermaid, I wished him a good day and before I knew it, I was preparing your meal.’

‘I see. Do you regret this choice now that you have entered my chambers?’

Éorhild swallowed a piece of spiced yam and pondered his question in silence. Did she regret it at all? Did she come to wish that she had stood her ground? It had not crossed her mind in the slightest.

‘No, I do not, my lord. In fact… I fear I could not bear a life away from you, a life where we are strangers and I am not devoted to you.’

‘Oh, Éorhild…’

Without a second thought, Éomer extended his hand over the table, gently taking hers. Despite its coarse and dry texture, her skin seemed to him as soft as the finest silk beneath his touch. Oh, how he craved to cover it with tender kisses until his last breath! Dying at her feet would be such a heavenly way to pass. Devotion would change sides, for once. She would be the princess, and he would be her servant.

‘I could not drag myself away from you, even if I tried,’ he murmured, plunging himself into her misty eyes. ‘But I understand that you need boundaries, you have made it abundantly clear. Name them, and I shall respect them.’

Her fingers curled around his. Her thumb gently traced the lines of his palm, sending delicious shivers throughout his body.

‘Let me accommodate myself to this position before I utter them,’ she sighed with a shy smile playing upon her lips. ‘This fear shall pass. I hope.’

‘Then your will shall be done, my sweet.’

Replenished enough to face her tasks, Éorhild let her prince finish the plate while surveying his chambers, planning which areas to clean once he departed for his own work. She compiled a list of her priorities, organising the tasks in the most efficient order to ensure her work — and his life — would be made smoother.

With enough effort and hard work, she could become an exemplary chambermaid. She was sure of it.

‘Tell me, what has my uncle ordered for me to do today?’

‘The King has demanded that you visit some of the villages in the Fold to lift the spirits of those whose barns and homes were devastated by the recent storms. Lord Fréaláf will accompany you to distribute provisions. After this, King Théoden demands a report and a list of what relief to bring so our brothers and sisters can have a home as promptly as possible.’

‘This winter will be particularly harsh. I would not want to see my people suffer in such trying times. I will go to meet them.’

Éorhild bowed her head and smiled.

‘You are fated to be a great king. I have always known it. And I shall never cease to proclaim it.’

With these words, she withdrew to the washroom to prepare a warm bath for him. On a stool she had carried over to the side of the tub, she arranged soap and washcloth neatly while the water heated above the fire. So absorbed was she in her task that the sound of Éomer fumbling with scrolls in the next room seldom reached her. Before the kettle had fully boiled, she lifted it and poured the steaming water into the bath, before sprinkling milk, fragrances, oils, and dried flowers into it.

Behind her, while she filled a basin with cold water, Éomer entered, still in his shirt. She rose and bowed, folding a towel over her forearm.

‘Your bath is ready, your Majesty.’

‘Thank you, Éorhild. I shall… um…’

Instantly understanding his intent, she turned to face the wall. As her eyes trailed along the carved patterns on the wooden panels, she heard his shirt rustling to the ground. It was enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle and for her lungs to forget to draw air in. The muscles of her abdomen, below her navel, tightened in a way they never had before, and it required all her willpower to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape her clenched lips. Perceiving the sound of his foot breaking the surface of the water, she gripped the wall, out of breath, digging her nails into the wood. A shard pressed painfully into her skin, keeping her grounded amid this dizzying euphoria.

What evil was seizing her? Was the biting winter cold rooted into her bones? She could scarcely believe that she had fallen ill; the previous night had been warmer than any she could remember in the maids’ quarters. Yet it ached at her core. Warm and cold waves slithering through her organs one after the other.

And she savoured it. Somehow, it was a kind of soreness that soothed.

She paused for a moment to steady herself before slowly turning to face him. As expected, his shirt lay discarded on the cold floor, and she took one step forward to collect it. It was then that the figure in the bathtub piqued her curiosity.

Éomer had reclined in the warm water, his bare torso rising and falling with each breath. Through his parted knees, emerging from the surface, she could discern droplets of the milky water scintillating upon the thin patch of hair across his chest. The skin of his arms, propped up on the rim of the tub, gleamed faintly in the candlelight. For the first time, she witnessed the sculpted strength of his muscles, carved by years — if not a lifetime — of training. War, she reckoned, could only have honed them further.

Her gaze drifted upward to his broad, toned shoulders, and she caught sight of the quiet elation softening his traits. With his chin tilted up and his eyes closed, he rested his head against a folded towel, surrendering to the warm embrace of the bath. His brass hair tumbled down over his collarbones, brushing the water’s surface with lazy grace. And if the foreign sensations already roiling within her had unsettled her reason, the vision of his hands idly tracing circles in the water only served to stoke the flames smouldering in her core.

‘Your Grace,’ she muttered, clutching the towel between her hands, ‘must I await you in your chambers? I am unsure of the expectations set on a chambermaid at such a time.’

One of his eyes flickered open, and a grin curled his mouth, digging a dimple just beyond the edge of his moustache.

‘Please forgive me; it has been so long since I last had such a soothing bath. Théodil never put such care into ensuring my mornings would be filled with comfort. I should have taken a moment to describe my routine. If you would be so kind as to hand me a washcloth and soap, then you may take your leave.’

‘Of course, your Majesty.’

She hurried over to the stool she had prepared and picked up both items. Yet, as she moved to present them to him, her attention was drawn once more to his torso, half-submerged in the water. In a fleeting moment, something deep within her resolve fractured, and before she could resist her will, she was kneeling at his side. He straightened in surprise, his puzzled stare fixed on her as she dipped the washcloth into the basin and worked the soap against it, coaxing a thin lather to form.

She lifted his hand in a tender gesture to press his knuckles to her lips in a ceremonious kiss. As she did, she guided the washcloth along his forearm, towards his elbow. One would have been blind not to notice the shivers that rose on his skin, as the object of his every desire attended to him in such an unpredicted and intimate act of care. He cupped her chin and waited for a word from her, his breath suspended in anticipation. But it never came. Not a flicker of expression betrayed her thoughts. She remained ever so calm, her focus absolute as she washed her prince’s arm and shoulder in meticulous strokes, ensuring that no inch of his skin was left untouched. Neither did she show any hint of repulsion as she scrubbed his armpit, still bearing the remnants of sweat from a night spent in anxiety.

‘Éorhild, what are you—’

His voice faltered, interrupted by a soft exhale that seemed to emanate from his very core, as her hand caressed his chest. Inside it, his heart pounded and blurred his sight, as though the very rhythm of his pulse was overpowering all reason and earthly senses. Never had anyone made him feel so small, so delicate, beneath their touch. Éorhild treated him as though he were the most precious being in existence, and he sensed it in every gesture, every look she cast upon him. And, in turn, it cost him all the mental discipline to resist the urge to pull her into the bath with him, to fondle her hips, whether over or under the fabric of her maid’s shift. Had he had his way, his lips would have been left scorched and raw from kissing her with the intensity fuelled by the passion that had consumed him over the long months.

Her hand halted on his abdomen as the gravity of the boundary she was on the verge of crossing dawned on her. Flushed with shame, she hastened to wash his legs and feet, her movements now sharp and uneasy. Without warning, she placed the cloth in the palm of his hand, her gaze dropping to the floor as she reclined on her heels.

‘Forgive my inappropriate behaviour, my lord. I now leave the matter in your hands.’

She scrambled to her feet, flustered and clumsy, placing the clean towel on the stool. Yet before she could flee, he caught her wrist with a gentle but unyielding grip and placed a single kiss there.

‘Do not leave me, gentle Éorhild. There is nothing to forgive.’

Her arm trembled, so consumed by guilt was she for her weakness. What had overtaken her, to wash him without consent, crossing a line so dangerous to cross? She had always been the pillar of reason and composure within her social circle and among the maids; Hilda had made a point of instilling these values in her, ensuring that she would eventually pass the torch with confidence to someone capable in time. Her steadfastness, once her cornerstone, now felt so brittle. The strength she had prided herself on, the very motivations that carried her through countless harsh nights in the maids’ quarters, crumbled piece by piece, like a fragile edifice battered by the unforgiving storm that was her affection for Éomer.

And she could not forgive herself for it. What model was she setting for the others? If Hilda could witness her state, she would have rightfully given her a piece of her mind. She would not have been tender or measured in her words; and that was precisely what Éorhild needed. She had to find someone who would speak plainly, who would shake her from this vicious daze and remind her of the perils that her feelings entailed.

Éorhild cleared her throat and withdrew her hand.

‘I must ensure that your clothes are pressed before you leave, my lord.’

‘Théodil already did it,’ he replied with a brief smile, betraying his disappointment. ‘You may ready my armour.’

‘Very well, your Grace.’

When Éomer stepped from the bath and patted himself dry, he craned his neck, his gaze catching Éorhild’s silhouette hunched over the bed as though she were lost in thought. Her hands moved diligently, polishing his breastplate with practiced care; yet her eyes were lost, fleeing to a distant horizon far beyond Meduseld. What thoughts, he wondered, occupied her mind? Her shifting demeanour — at times devoted, at times distant — left him to doubt whether her decision to remain his chambermaid was born of genuine will or a sense of duty she could not escape. He would not put it past her; duty had always been her light, shaping her every decision, giving her purpose, and driving her to arise with each new day.

And her hand, so deliberately caressing his body… What had prompted it in that moment? What force had steered her pretty limb, influencing her into crossing a boundary she had so desperately kept at bay?

The phantom of her touch still haunted his skin. The warmth of her fingers had embraced his arms, as though their imprint had etched themselves into his very soul. He wanted her. He wanted her with a yearning so fierce it eclipsed every fleeting notion of fondness he had ever felt for other women. Never had he desired anything — or anyone — so profoundly. He ached for her to bring him to his knees, and he would not require a single utterance from her to yield. All he aspired to do was to weave her essence into his veins, for no embrace would ever quell this ferocious hunger.

At last, Éorhild turned and retrieved a clean undershirt. In the washroom, she guided the garment over his form, studiously resisting to look at his exposed skin. Averting her eyes, she deftly secured his loincloth and rolled woollen hose up his legs with forced detachment. Without a word, she attended to him and completed the task of dressing him. She led him to a stately armchair tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wood displaying deep red undertones under the sunlight filtering through the window. Across from it, a mirror hung on the wall. Its tarnished gleam, having captured the likeness of generations of royals, still reflected their shared silence.

She reached for an ornate comb, crafted from pale ivory adorned with intricate carvings of traditional Rohirric knotwork and suns. Its artistry told of their people’s heritage, which stirred pride within their hearts, each detail a testament of their forebears and their skills. She passed its teeth through the golden locks on his head, careful not to tug at tangles and cause him pain. The prince shut his eyes and surrendered to the exhilarating strokes of her fingers. Éorhild perfumed his hair and braided it, before stepping back to allow him to rise. Once she had cladded him in his lighter armour, with its leather glinting in the candlelight, she bowed low and pressed her lips to his knuckle in reverence. The gesture sent a shy tremor through him, as though she were bestowing her favour and benediction upon him before he rode to battle.

‘Your Majesty, you stand before me ready to aid your people.’

‘Thank you, Éorhild, truly,’ he murmured, running the pad of his thumb alongside her jawline. He helped her stand, holding her hand for a moment longer. ‘Please do not overburden yourself today. The diligence you have shown since entering my family’s service far exceeds what I could ever expect of a chambermaid. I ask no more than a tidy room and a fresh shirt for the morrow.’

‘I will certainly not settle for so little, of course, you should know me well by now,’ she chuckled, her eyes brightening at last now that the tension had evaporated. ‘Should my tasks be completed ahead of time, would you grant me leave to visit the market? I wish to buy a few apples for myself.’

Éomer returned her smile and reached over to a small oak box resting on his desk. He opened it and retrieved a gold coin, pressing it gently into the palm of her hand.

‘I wish for you to buy yourself those apples and treat yourself to a pint of cider while you are at it. There is nothing quite like old Balthain’s steaming pastries to pair with it.’

‘My lord, I cannot—’

‘I knew you would refuse,’ he said with a knowing smirk. ‘So, to ease your guilt, you may buy a couple of those pastries for us to share after dinner tonight. I will also expect a bottle of cider. And since I hate loose change, you might as well spend it on yourself.’

She scowled, but after a brief pause, she reluctantly accepted and slipped it into the pocket of her apron.

‘It is my first day and you are already spoiling me.’

‘And I am happy to. If others gossip, let them. It is not forbidden for me to give you presents.’

‘My lord…’

A laugh slipped off her lip, diffusing a comforting warmth throughout his chest. What a chime! What a melody! He could listen to it endlessly, forevermore. He would cherish waking to the sound of it each morning, if not from the lingering scent at the curve of her neck. That of life itself, a balm to his soul, affirming the simple joy of knowing she exists, and the blessing of being so near to her. And, he hoped, that she loved him as much as he did her.

Éomer directed her to where the fresh linens were kept, but he was not surprised to see her already familiar with the location. With a last gaze, rich with fondness and trust, he departed, his duty calling him to the struggling villagers of the Fold.

The day passed more swiftly than Éorhild had anticipated. In contrast to his younger years, when she had been brought to tend to his chamber, Éomer had become noticeably tidier, and cleaning his quarters was no longer the arduous task it once had been. As intended, she exceeded the expectations he had voiced and tended to the upkeep of his private areas with an unequalled level of attention. Not only did she replace and washed his linens, but she also dusted every nook and cranny, the intricate carvings in the wall panels and the furniture, as well as each lantern and scroll she could put her hands on. All floors were swept, all candles replaced, the bathtub emptied and thoroughly scrubbed. His muddy garments were washed, infused with subtle fragrances, and hung to dry by an open window in the wash house beneath the Golden Hall.

When her chores were at last complete, she retreated to her own quarters to wash away the day’s labour. She hung her uniform to air by the window, opting instead for a loose woollen dress. A headscarf came to conceal her hair, lending her a modest yet graceful air. With her green mantle fastened at her shoulders, she gathered her coin purse and wicker basket; thus adorned, she stepped out, bound for the bustling market of Edoras.

Her path led her to the heart of Meduseld, where she encountered Lady Éowyn, sitting by the hearth with a pelt over her knees. A radiant smile lit up her face as she read a freshly delivered letter. Éorhild paused to bow respectfully, and she could not help but appreciate the contentment that the lady displayed. There could be no doubt — the letter’s author was Lord Faramir of Minas Tirith, whose words had the power to brighten up the lady’s day and life.

As she passed under the arches, Éorhild’s thoughts meandered, unbidden, to the memory of that evening when she and Éomer had shared a cup of tea on the hillside. He had seemed genuinely elated for his sister’s choice of husband. There was this blatant relief in knowing that, amidst the trials of her life, Lady Éowyn had been granted the rare privilege of forging her own destiny in this matter of the heart, no matter how insignificant it may seem in one’s life. Her decision, unshackled by duty or arrangements, seemed to lighten Éomer’s spirit, as though it reaffirmed his hope that happiness could be earned even in the face of adversity.

It pained her so greatly that he would never know the same freedom or joy for himself. Being the heir of the throne of Rohan, Éomer’s hand was not his own to give, but a prize to be bartered, auctioned, and reduced to a tool for securing alliances and strengthening the kingdom’s prospects. His fate was bound by politics, a vicious and weighty chain that no amount of personal yearning could ever shatter. The thought of his desires stifled, and his bliss sacrificed for gain gnawed at her heart with relentless sorrow.

She loved him. The realisation dawned on her, oh so bittersweet. And he seemed to love her too, judging by his tender glances and the weight of his words. Their mutual pining did not strike her as a passing fancy or some shallow infatuation fated to vanish by the next moonrise. No, it felt rooted, profound and abiding. It was as though their souls had wandered the world in loneliness and had finally found each other, now waiting for their bodies to join as one. Yet, the path ahead of them was full of thorns and was paved with the inevitability of reality. She was baseborn, he was to be king. Her heart had already caught onto one of these thorns, left there to bleed for eternity.

A guard stepped forward to open the heavy gate for her. She acknowledged his gesture with a curtsey and stepped out into the crisp air of this wintry afternoon. The creak of the door shutting behind her was accompanied by the faint hum of the marketplace farther into the city. She followed it, drawn like a fish to a lure, her steps heavy. Every so often, her gaze turned to the landscape beyond the ramparts. The world beyond the capital was caught in winter’s grasp, though it had yet to snow in earnest. The once green fields, undulating into hills stretching towards the horizon, had surrendered to the season’s damp embrace; the recent storms had transformed their loamy soil into sprawling swamps of mud clinging stubbornly to the terrain. Under her breath, she murmured a prayer to Béma, the protector of riders. She beseeched him to shield Éomer and Firefoot from harm in the Fold. The thought of them braving the treacherous, mud-laden roads filled her with uneasiness. She prayed for their sure footing, for their journey to be unmarred by peril, and for the prince’s safe arrival to the Golden Hall, where his well-being would once again rest in her hands.

And, catching herself in her selfish fixation of her prayers upon the prince, she lowered her head in shame and apologised to the Vala. She then implored him to spare and protect the villagers, whose livelihoods had been washed away by the storm.

Lower down the hill, the market thrummed with life, serving as both the beating heart of trade and the soul of the community for the Rohirrim who lived there. In its appearance, it resembled any other marketplace. Stalls stood in rows; their wares were strategically displayed to catch the attention of passing customers. A teeming crowd flowed between them, while the sellers, determined to outshine one another, clamoured their unbeatable prices over the constant and unfading chatter. Tantalising fumes of freshly prepared goods wafted through the narrow square. Large cauldrons bubbled over open flames, releasing steamy, mouth-watering tendrils which embraced the crowd, while golden-brown pastries, still warm from the oven, were left out to cool.

Éorhild joined the commotion and clutched her basket tightly to her abdomen. She moved along the rows, folding herself into the smallest space possible to avoid shouldering fellow visitors. At the end of the third lane, she found the fruit merchant’s stall, and her gaze lingered on a cluster of ruby red apples, glistening under the shy sun peeking through white clouds. She selected a few of the finest she could put her hands on and exchanged a few coins for the treasure. She tucked them away inside her basket, a smile tugging at her cheeks as she counted the additional ones she bought, thoughtfully set aside for Éomer and Firefoot.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the judges’ house, standing behind the tanner’s booth. Its pristine façade outshone its neighbours, testifying of the means and the social wellness of its personnel, who maintained it religiously, although the hanging sign creaked noisily as it swayed on its rusting hinges in the breeze. Its sound was almost mournful, as though whispering secrets of the countless harsh and difficult decisions decided within over the years to whomever was willing to lend it an ear. For a moment, Éorhild stopped and stared, her mind straying to the risks that she and Éomer had taken to be near each other and struggled so much to cease taking.

What if the judges inside could clarify the age-old laws of the royal house? Perhaps they could grant her the wisdom she sought, the tools to discern her place as a new chambermaid and choose her course more wisely. She imagined herself stepping through that varnished doorway, humbling herself before the ageing judges, who, she was certain, would welcome her plight with cold detachment and severe judgement. Undoubtedly, they would see the folly in her yearning and warn her of the dangers looming over her head should she pursue him. Only them could shake some sense into her disoriented heart. Could their grave words steel her resolve again as they reminded her of the chasm that lay between her station and Éomer’s?

The embers of her passion had to be snuffed before they consumed her entirely and reduced her life to ashes.

And yet, Éorhild could not bring herself to step forward. Her feet remained firmly planted in the mud, her breath shallow and strained through the lump that had formed in her throat. A thousand questions warred in her mind, and each seemed more absurd than the last as her eyes kept examining the façade, whose grandeur seemed to mock her dishevelled thoughts.

Before she knew it, she was pacing through the thinning crowd, dimming her inner agitation with the thought of alcohol. At the market’s edge, she encountered the cidermaker, a burly man with a strikingly copper-coloured beard wearing an apron tarnished by years of fermenting fruit. She slammed the gold coin that Éomer had entrusted her on the counter in exchange for a cup and a bottle of his finest spirit. The latter she lowered into her basket; the former she rose to her lips, tilting the vessel with abandon. The golden liquid was drained in a single breathless gulp. It froze her throat for a mere second, sat heavily in her chest for another, then the burning passed.

Her antics earned her the curiosity of a group of men with reddened faces huddled around a weatherworn table beside her. Their elbows nudged one other while their laughter rang out in derisive delight. Heat flushed her cheeks — not from the drink, but from their jesting bellowing that followed. Ignoring their words, she kept her chin up and feigned to readjust her head covering. Between the poles of several stalls ahead of her, she could still see the judges’ house, taunting yet promising.

She offered a brief nod of gratitude to the cidermaker, who caught the flush of discomfort in her eyes. He slammed his hands on the counter and roared at the other men.

‘Mind your manners, you louts! Have you got nothing better to do than drink yourselves stupid and pester ladies?!’

But Éorhild hardly perceived the seller’s gallant intervention; her brisk pace had already led her away from the scene. It compelled her straight towards the judges’ house, before which she stood with clenched fists. There was light behind the greenish windows. Taking it as an invitation, her hand grazed the polished handle of the door, and she crossed the threshold.

Inside, the warm air that engulfed her and pricked her reddening fingertips bore a stark contrast to the wintry breeze she was leaving behind. Above her head, a chandelier shuddered when she shut the door, the faint haloes of the candles’ light flickering upon the walls. Its click echoed in the stillness of the otherwise dim room, heralding her presence in what felt like a far louder announcement than it truly was. On her left, a boy was tossing logs into the fire within a red hearth. His hands, blackened with soot and calloused from handling wood, swiftly dodged the flames and sparks. He did not acknowledge her presence; surely, he had not been entrusted with the task to welcome visitors, so young was he.

Further on the right, a lofty and imposing shelf stretched almost the height of the ceiling, carrying more scrolls and volumes than she had ever seen in her life. It was a fantastic collection of knowledge and history, gathered along the years and borrowed from the neighbouring realms. Some of the edges were gilded, others frayed, their spines either pristine or cracked, bearing faded inscriptions of the Rohirric language, ordinarily recorded in oral tradition. They emitted a strong scent of ink and aged parchment, mingled with the eye-stinging aroma of woodsmoke.

In the centre, a table adorned with a single candelabra stood unattended. A lone chair worn by every bottom it had known had been pulled on the other side of the desk, but never rearranged. Perhaps its occupant was soon to return. Behind it was a door separating the room from the rest of the house. Éorhild discerned several voices speaking at once beyond it, and though she could not make out the words, she knew that they belonged to various, simultaneous conversations. Yet, seeing that nobody had come to see her, she spun around to leave.

‘Well, good day, milady,’ a cheery yet calm voice interrupted her course. ‘It is not everyday that a maid of Meduseld graces our humble abode. Be welcome, child.’

She turned swiftly, startled by the sudden greeting. An elderly man stood in the doorway to the adjoining chamber with a tome tucked under his arm. She recognised him as Judge Guthláf, having served his occasional dinners with the king at the palace. He had always struck her as a blend of grace and warmth, not just in the thoughtful advice he lent to Théoden, but also in the genuine compliments he unfailingly awarded the servants on every visit.

‘Forgive me if I startled you, dear,’ he added with a hearty laugh, beckoning her inside. ‘I did not hear your arrival; my hearing is no longer as sharp as it used to be.’

She dipped into a curtsey, her hands clutching the handle of her basket.

‘Good day, your Honour. I apologise for my unprompted visit; I did not mean to intrude.’

‘Oh, child, do not worry yourself. Come, come.’

The boy brushed past her without so much as a word or a glance, his thin frame moving towards the door. It opened for a moment, admitting a single sharp draft that nipped at the back of her neck before the door closed with a resolute thud. She stepped forward, the soles of her slippers producing faint echoes on the stone floor. She stood before Guthláf, whose scrutinising gaze examined her. His dulling eyes half shielded under his bushy saw a gleam of recognition kindled in them.

‘Ah, Éorhild, is it not? You were the orphaned girl that Hilda brought in years ago! She brought you here once or twice in your early days in Edoras, I remember.’

‘Your memories are clearer than mine, I must admit,’ she responded shyly. ‘I mostly remember you from your visits to the king.’

‘Oh, that was long ago, and you were but a girl. How could I blame you? Anyway, do speak freely, child. It is rare for anyone of your station to seek our help, so I suspect that the reasons you passed our doorsteps go far beyond the tidying of halls or the pouring of wine.’

While speaking, Guthláf trotted around with surprising ease for his age, advancing towards a corner obscured from her by the bookshelf. There, he retrieved a wooden chair, which he promptly dragged behind him to offer her. She bowed her head in gratitude and eased herself onto the seat, clasping her hands together for warmth. The old man sat across from her, leaning his elbows onto the table and staring at her, neither in an urging nor in a prying manner. The smile etched into his cheeks encouraged her to gather her thoughts and speak.

‘Yesterday, I was named chambermaid of the prince,’ she stuttered, unsure what to even ask. ‘I know that the oath I am bound to swear will differ from the one I swore years ago. Would you happen to know what it officially entails?’

Pondering her question, he fidgeted with the signet ring around his middle finger.

‘What shall change, you ask? New duties, new expectations, as you probably know already. I suppose that you have had a taste of them today, have you not?’

‘Indeed, your Honour.’

‘Mh. In addition to the maintenance of his belongings and quarters, you will act as a personal advisor in many ways. Not as a political one, mind you, but there will be many a time when you must act as his conscience, ensuring that he does not make a mockery of himself or his status at official or diplomatic events, for instance.’

His words echoed in her mind, tormenting her further. Éorhild balled her hands into fists, grasping the coarse wool of her skirt to ground herself. What had possessed her to seek counsel here, when she was unsure of what answers she needed to hear?

Lately, she had been hardly capable of acting as anyone’s conscience, least of all Éomer’s. She had only ever been the type to abide by the rules without question, until now, when she only posed a threat to his balance and clarity of mind.

‘I…’ she trailed off, unsure how to continue. He waited with relieving patience, rubbing his chin in anticipation of what she might confess. ‘What of the nature of my relationship with the prince? I am aware that my former oath involved a strict vow of celibacy, but what of this new pledge? I know of many maids who covet my position to be free of it.’

‘Ah, you are not the first to ask me this, child!’ he laughed. ‘This new oath you will swear will be negotiated with the person you are serving — the prince, in this instance — and compromises may be made, if he so wishes. If he does not object to your taking of a lover, then he will not have you vow for a life of celibacy again.’

She shifted in her seat, her hands plucking the lint on the wool’s surface. Her eyes darted to the fireplace, whose heat worsened the blushing creeping up her neck and dyeing her cheeks a crimson hue. Her nerves were unravelling, thread by brittle thread, with each tug of her fingers. The prospect of being freed from such a restrictive and frankly unfair pledge did nothing to soothe her turmoil; in truth, it only fanned it further. Despite her disorientation, she possessed enough reason to understand the cruel reality of the situation. It mattered not whether her regained freedom would enable her to find a lover of her choosing. The laws of court and birth, the unyielding expectations of their respective places, were a steel cage locked imprisoning her heart and its desires. Seeking comfort in each other’s arms would still be forbidden to Éorhild and Éomer, and no amount of resistance would lift the ban.

But then, like a single ember catching fire to a dry leaf, an idea flickered to life in her mind — wild, unprompted, and unbecoming of her usual sense of propriety. It was not one that she prided herself on, nor did she desire to voice it to anybody else, but if she wished to be given the wisdom she dared not speak of, she had to play a game. She could not pose the question as herself, lest she be revealed as a greedy servant. Guthláf’s curious gaze and the heavy silence that had befallen the room, only disturbed by the crackling fire, pressed her reason with an urgency she could not ignore.

‘Your Honour,’ she began, her voice forcefully wavering as she feigned fear, ‘are there any provisions within the laws — any precedents — that might allow a master to take liberties with his chambermaid?’

Her words suspended in the air seemed weightier than any of the volumes lining the bookshelf beside them. Beads of sweat trailed down her temples, so ashamed was she to even speak such preposterous implications towards Éomer, gleaming in the firelight cast upon her profile. The heat in her body, prompted by her hurricane of emotions, was suffocating her. Her trembling fingers unhooked her mantle as she muttered an apology and folded the cloak over the chair’s back.

Master Guthláf stared at her in disbelief. His wrinkled hands, clasped over the book he had been carrying, twitched around each other.

‘Éorhild, has the prince…?’

‘No, no, your Honour,’ she hastened to reassure the old man, whose face had turned as pale as the snow on the mountain peaks. ‘It is just… I am unused to being so often in the presence of men in closed quarters. I do not know what it is that men wish for, and, perhaps, in a moment of weakness, something could happen.’

Éorhild winced, the sharp sting of self-reproach piercing her all the way to her very marrow. What a clumsy explanation she had improvised! She felt her own words stumble and wash over the old man, who, to her surprise, seemed to soften at once. If she could have reached out and snatched her words back, she would have done so in a heartbeat.

For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes drifted towards the logs aflame in the hearth as he searched for the right words to speak to a fearful young woman such as she. From the concern that contorted his traits and further wrinkled the corners of his mouth, she guessed that his answer would not be as pleasant as she had anticipated. There was a terrible truth hidden behind his pale irises, threatening to darken the discussion at once.

Finally, he cleared his throat and considered his visitor with pity.

‘A matter such as this is no small one, my dear child. But you must know this.’

He rubbed his finger upon his upper lip, mustering his courage to face her with a revelation that could terrify her.

‘The laws of the royal house are such that if a male individual cared for by a female chambermaid wishes to engage in… certain activities with her, he may command it, and she must comply without question.’

Her sweat turned to ice at once, stabbing her with a chill that no fire could thaw. Indignation coiled inside her core like a serpent constricting around her insides to smother them before it could feast on them. More than ever, she understood Éowyn’s pain.

How could such a humiliating thing be asked of a woman? Did her body not belong to herself? Was her flesh just another tool of service, stripped of agency?

She had willingly ceded her heart to her duty when she was not yet a woman and had until this day never once regretted it. Its unique desires and ambitions had been stifled when she pledged her devotion to Meduseld, and the wellbeing of its inhabitants had become her sole beacon. Her soul, too, she had bound to them out of loyalty and respect. It had resisted every order, every expectation, never crumbled under any form of pressure or intimidation from other maids or Edelmer. But her body, surely that should remain hers.

But if even that was forfeit to the whims of tradition or the impunity of kings, princes, and marshals, what did she have left? Nothing but her name. The thought hollowed her out, leaving an echo of despair where there once had been resolve. A name was nothing that she used for herself; it was always to be spoken by others. It was as easily erased or forgotten by the trials of time as stories of old that nobody wished to pass down anymore. It did not dictate who she was as a person. It did not tell of her personality, of her values, not even of her flaws. Its letters bore no witness to whatever good service she had provided to anyone. Its syllables were blind to the comfort she knows she had brought Éomer that night under the stars, when she sang his mother’s song to him.

The world suddenly felt so hostile, its rules and unholy chains that dug into her flesh keeping her on her bleeding knees. Oh, what life had she chosen? The question scorched her chest, too bitter for her to contemplate for the time being.

Guessing her consternation, Guthláf reached over to take her clammy hand. He gave it a squeeze, accompanying the gesture with a knowing smile, devoid of joy.

‘I know, child. I know,’ he murmured. ‘If the prince demands your presence in his bed, you must obey. But know that if he ever displays violence towards you, in bed or in his chambers, there are laws to protect you.’

Ironic. There were no laws to safeguard her dignity if her body was demanded against her will, yet if he so much raised a hand against her in anger or force, the judges might intervene. But even that faint hope was a fragile thing. It was frayed with the knowledge of who her adversary then would be.

A royal. Against the glory of his title, her station was nothing but dust encrusted in the grooves of the floors she was destined to scrub until her death. She was not so naïve as to believe that justice was blind to their disparity, nor foolish enough to presume that the scales would ever tip in her favour. No matter how righteous her cause, her whisper would falter beneath the roar of his status, her truth obscured by the glow of the crown he was promised to.

It was not just fear that churned in her belly but the unshakeable certainty of her own insignificance in the face of power. Her nails bit into her palms, nearly drawing blood. Yet, somewhere through the fog, a spark of defiance ignited. She could not change the laws, nor could she wrest power from a prince. But she could cling to her sense of self, her identity and her will. If the world offered no protection, then she would have to be her own shield.

‘I see,’ she replied coldly, withdrawing her hand and flattening it upon her thigh. ‘So, if I understand well, he could order me to share his bed, and neither he nor I would be punished for this offence?’

‘Not unless he harmed you.’

For now, that would have to be enough. She was not sure that she could handle much more dwelling on the matter.

‘And to think that so many maids would sacrifice everything, even tear each other apart to be in my place,’ she scoffed, tying her cloak around herself again. ‘They have not counted their blessings.’

‘My child, there is much gratification in exercising this function,’ Guthláf prodded with a shake of his head. ‘Should you satisfy your master’s wishes regarding the upkeep of his chambers and his person, there are many ways in which you would benefit from this position. Some chamberlains and chambermaids have been granted lands in the past; some were elevated to the status of courtiers. Do not abandon yourself to such defeatism. I have seen your work at Meduseld and the only person I have met who carried her tasks with such grace was Hilda herself, Béma bless her soul.’

‘Yet I would have to sacrifice my integrity for these privileges, and I am not quite sure that I am willing to do so. Lord Éomer has always treated me kindly, but to know that he holds such power over me is…’

Her voice trailed off, her mind too weak to consider the outcome of their relationship should he grow weary of her avoidance and decide to take the matter in his own hands. She did not believe him capable of doing so; but too often had she witnessed the lords of the court misbehaving towards other women to put it past him.

‘Éorhild, if that is of any consolation, I have seldom ever heard of a master ordering it from their maids. Not within the royal family, that is. Be at peace; I am sure that Lord Éomer would not trespass your boundaries, unless you prompted him to. But surely you are not silly enough to do such a thing, are you?’

Their gazes locked across the table, and Éorhild felt that time itself paused. The judge’s eyes, weathered by years of truths both spoken and withheld, reached into the recesses of her spirit. A chill ran through her; her thoughts might not be as shrouded as she had believed. Did he know? Had he, from the moment that she crossed the threshold, discerned the tangled threads of her forbidden yearning? Did he see past the clumsy detours of her words and perceived what her heart truly wished to know?

His stare pinned her into place and her breath hitched, shallow and shaken. His expression betrayed nothing, stilled into a mask of patience. Beneath it she sensed an unspoken knowledge, as if he was merely awaiting her to confront it herself.

‘Did you already know, my lord?’ her voice rose, although little more than a strangled whisper.

His eyes softened, but his answer, when it came, confirmed that he had grasped what she had struggled to articulate.

‘Do you truly believe that you are the only young woman to have come to me in hopes that I would give her my blessing to pursue the object of her desire?’ he responded, his voice hardened now that the matter had been bared between them. ‘Do not fool yourself, girl. Your pretty head would be severed from your shoulders by morning if you indulged your urges.’

His patronising tone made her recoil and press her back against her chair. The defiance born of her indignation, however, had not been snuffed out. She rose to her feet, those of the chair scraping against the stone with a discordant tone that offended their ears. picking her basket up off the floor.

‘I have taken enough of your time, your Honour,’ she hissed. ‘Thank you for your counsel.’

Her knuckles paled as she clutched the handle, turning on her heel, desperate to evade the suffocating atmosphere of the house. Each step she took towards the door grew heavier than the last, her mind a cacophony of self-recriminations and accusations towards Rohirric society.

She reached for the latch, her trembling fingers stiffening at the touch cold of the metal, but before she could push it, Guthláf’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

‘Child,’ he said, his tone an odd mixture of consternation and compassion, ‘you will not flee the danger your heart poses by storming out of this room.’

Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, and reluctantly, she turned to look at the old magistrate, still sitting at the table behind the dying candle. His gaze was no longer the scrutiny she had sensed moments before. It had transformed into something gentler, almost fatherly.

‘Whatever it is you seek,’ he continued, his palms flattening against the wood, ‘you will not find it by avoiding the reality of your circumstances. So, if you truly reject my counsel, hear at least this; no amount of earthly pleasure shared with the prince is worth your death. No man is worth your death.’

Tears brimmed her eyes within a second. A tremor crossed her lower lip, and although the old man’s sight was no longer as precise, it did not escape him.

‘Hilda was proud of you, you know? Every time she and I shared a glass, she would tell me about her prodigy. You were the daughter she had never had the joy to have. Please, do not waste your life away on a whim. She would not have wanted that.’

Éorhild could bear it no longer. She pushed the latch and left, without so much as a goodbye. Outside, the bustle of the market had died down, and most of those who had stayed behind were helping the merchants with the packing of their goods and the cleaning of their stalls. None of them paid attention to her, and she was grateful for it. Pressed against the door, her chest heaving with strain, and tears streaming down her red cheeks, the last thing that she wanted was to be noticed.

She clasped her chest, sensing her erratic heartbeat underneath her palm. Her breath, reduced to succinct shallow gasps, caused her shoulders to curl inward, as though she was shrinking around herself. The world around her blurred, the people, homes, and mountains fading into indistinct shapes dancing before her. Her eyelids fell and she drew some fresh air through her nostrils, letting it fill her lungs like a balm applied to her dilapidated nerves.

One breath. Then another.

Gradually, the haze began to lift, but the haunting image of her head on a pike ruined her every effort. Her basket collapsed at her feet, spilling the beautiful apples she had acquired earlier. The cider bottle, she would later find solace in, had not shattered, and merely rolled against her shoe.

Below her feet, the earth was seized by a faint quake. Someone far away shouted, but she failed to understand their words. Her feeble knees caused her to totter away from the door, her hand holding fast to the wall. But the force it took her to take a step surpassed her. Her chest burnt with distress, and dark blotches began to stain her sight.

‘Éorhild?’

Her eyelashes fluttered open upon the mention of her name. It was the only clear perception amidst the drowning sensations of her reality crumbling all around her and swirling ever closer until it would swallow her whole. Through a squint, she made out the shape of a grey steed with a proud, white head. Perched atop it was a red figure she could not recognise.

The voice rose again, although not directed to her this time.

‘Return to the stables and demand an audience with the king. I shall meet you there without fail.’

‘But my lord—,’ another voice responded.

‘I am not leaving my chambermaid in distress here. Do carry on. I will bring her to the palace and find you.’

Hooves trampled the ground as the riders ascended the hill to the royal stables. Éomer muttered an order to Firefoot, and the horse trotted up to her right as she collapsed onto her knees, bruising it on a rock. The prince slipped off the saddle and knelt by her side, holding her quivering hands in his own.

‘Éorhild, what has befallen you? Has harm been inflicted to you?’

Her head shook in feeble protest as a sound, more air than voice, escaped her throat — a rattling whimper that seemed to drain the last of her strength. Without another word and realising that she was in no state to clarify the situation, he gathered her form into his arms. Her body, lighter than she would have imagined, slumped against his torso, unable to resist even if she had wanted to. With delicate motions, he set her down on his saddle, her head lolling back. Éomer swung himself onto the horse and anchored her between his arms and legs. He braced her against his chest, curling one shoulder forward and pressing his cheek to her hair to keep her head fastened.

Though half-lidded eyes, she caught sight of her fallen basket, the bottle and apples scattered onto the ground beside it.

‘The apples,’ she exhaled.

‘Nevermind them,’ he intoned into her ear, nudging Firefoot back onto the path. ‘Let me take you back home.’

His horse launched forward; its step brisk yet steady enough for Éorhild to remain firmly seated. Around her, the city fell into a fog of her own making, and the hum of the merchants closing shop was reduced to a distant purr against the rhythmic clopping of Firefoot’s hooves upon the golden dirt. For now, there was nothing but the path ahead and Éomer’s heart beating alongside hers in her ears.

She must have lost consciousness, for when next she opened her eyes, the wintry air and landscapes were beyond reach. Her vision swam back into focus and the first thing she registered was the softness beneath her — a bed, far more comfortable than the straw mattresses she had occupied for most of her life. Her body was warm, soothed by the calming scent of lavender woven into the linens tucked snugly around her. Across from the bed, her green cloak had been neatly folded and laid to rest on one of two chairs standing on either side of a round table, towering over her slippers. Whoever had brought her there had also taken the precaution to take off her woollen hose and head covering and had disposed of them onto the chair’s back.

It was Éomer’s chambers. She already knew them like the back of hand.

The pads of her fingers caressed the weave of the sheets as she wondered whether she had dreamt the day’s events — the bath, the market, her encounter with Guthláf, and the chaos that followed. But as her thoughts settled, she knew they were real. One thing was certain; someone had carried her to this sanctuary, and for the time being, she was safe.

She hauled herself up with tremendous effort and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Much to her relief, her head had ceased its spinning. She was just about to attempt to stand when the door opened and Éomer entered, carrying a steaming bowl of spiced mashed potatoes. When his eyes locked with hers, he almost dropped the dish to come to her side, but he clung to it and hastened to place in on his bedside. He fell at her feet, pressing his lips to her hands.

‘Éorhild, you gave me such a fright!’ he breathed out between kisses. A flutter in his voice betrayed the concern that hard burdened his heart ever since he found her by the judges’ house. ‘Oh, my beloved, name whomever has caused you such torment and I shall hunt them for sport!’

Her fingers brushed through the blond strands on his head, their course coming to a halt when his cheek nestled against her palm. She could not help the smile lighting up her features at last; his mere presence alleviated her troubles, although, in a way, he had been the cause of it all.

He remained still, breathing in her scent at her wrist, his breathing matching the steady rhythm of her pulse. His hand came to enfold hers, neither pushing it away nor forcing it back through his hair. It was there, undemanding, merely demonstrating his affection, as though to reaffirm his support.

‘Nobody has offended me, my lord,’ she spoke, her dry throat causing her words to emerge raspier than expected. ‘Be at rest.’

‘How could I? I thought I was close to losing you, Éorhild, and my heart could not bear it.’

He extended a hand to stroke her jaw, his twinkling eyes admiring her for a moment. Then, the spicy scent emanating from the bedside table reminded him of the food he had brought in from the kitchens. He withdrew his hand and offered her the bowl and a wooden spoon. ‘Here,’ he chuckled, making her hand cup the dish. ‘You must eat. You need strength.’

The spoon danced in Éorhild’s hand as she stirred the mash, the aroma reaching her and prompting her to eat. The savours spilled across her tongue, engulfing her entire mouth. She closed her eyes to allow the complexity of the tastes of such simple food to overwhelm her. The herbs, the spices — she recognised them as those reserved for the highborn. She had carried countless delicacies adorned with them to the royal table for years, in private dinners and banquets. So often had she considered to defy the rules for a single bite, just to familiarise herself with the food that her peers had put such care into perfecting and to know, at least once, how it melted on the tongue. Now that Éomer had allowed her to partake in the discovery of such seasonings, the divide between their ranks seemed ever so thin.

Her hand shook slightly when she planted the spoon back into the bowl. It was not solely due to the soreness of her limbs, but to the act itself. The fact that Éomer had taken the initiative to bring her some sustenance after the incident, how relieved he had been when he found her awake, and the fact that he had her cumbersome clothes put aside while she was asleep, moved her.

Along another mouthful, a wave of guilt traversed her stomach, causing it to churn. She stole a glance towards the prince, whose brow creased with concern at her puzzled expression. This was not how things were supposed to be. She was the servant; she should be the one to ensure that his stomach was full. That was the natural order of things and had been since she first entered Meduseld at the tender age of twelve. Yet here he was, kneeling before her and presenting her with food.

How reckless she had been, allowing her whirlwind of emotions to submerge her into unconsciousness. He should not have to bear the consequences of her idiocy — his attention diverted, his time wasted, his care given to someone unworthy of it.

And that was one of her main concerns. She did not deserve his attention at all, not that day, not ever. She should have remained in the shadows of the hall, hugging the walls as a faceless phantom in the royal household. The day that Éomer had deigned to engage in a conversation with her had been both a blessing and her doom.

‘Forgive me, your Majesty,’ she uttered in shame. ‘I did not mean to trouble you at all. This is unnatural, you should not have to—’

‘Sit down, Éorhild,’ he said in a gentle command. ‘And what ever do you mean by unnatural?’

‘This, you tending to me while I am soiling your linens with my dirty dress. I apologise for this mess; I must wash them tonight and change them again.’

Éomer cradled her face, the warmth of his skin instantly ebbing away the spiral that was ravaging her thoughts again.

‘Beloved, I would sleep between muddy sheets for the rest of my life if that ensured your welfare.’

Her tears hung on the tips of her eyelashes. He sat beside her and enfolded her in his embrace, placing a kiss in her hair.

‘You have borne so much for me, my family, and our kingdom, Éorhild. So, no, you owe me no apologies. For once, let me shoulder this weight with you.’

The heartfelt intentions behind his words tipped her tears off the edge. They cascaded down her cheeks without restraint, the dam of her composure fractured by his kindness. He guided her head to his heart and rested his chin on top of it, lulling her until she could speak again.

‘I do not deserve any of this,’ she said with a sniffle, moving to blot her tears with the hem of her sleeve, but finding his thumb already wiping them away. ‘Not from you.’

‘You deserve far more, and it is high time that somebody told you so,’ he responded, touching his forehead to hers. His hand curled around hers and his lips kissed her knuckles. ‘Now, will you tell me what happened earlier today? Help me understand.’

With great reluctance, she turned back to the bowl on her lap. She forced herself to ingest several spoonfuls, in hopes to delay the inevitable moment she would have to confess the reasons behind her earlier collapse. Éomer remained seated by her side; he did not press her; he did not speak. His unspoken patience reached her and assured her that he would wait for as long as she needed.

‘I spoke to Master Guthláf,’ she divulged, her gaze still downturned to the nearly empty dish.

‘What for?’

Éorhild laid bare her heart to him, sparing little in her revelations. She spoke of the unease gnawing at her over the inevitable scrutiny she would face from the other maids, resentment brewing from her appointment as chambermaid without Edelmer’s assessment of the quality of her work. She recounted how her fondness for him had intruded her every waking thought, dissolved her sense of propriety and blinded her to the bounds of what was tolerated or forbidden.

She conveyed her anguish at the market, where thoughts of consulting the judges over the oath she would have to swear if Éomer secured her position as chambermaid after her trial. She described how, after draining an entire cup of cider, her feet had carried her to Guthláf, before whom she had circled around the subject with hesitant words, though the old man had understood her purpose from the very beginning.

She related the magistrate’s blood-curdling words regarding her consequential beheading, should she succumb to her emotions, and how the thought of Hilda’s profound disappointment, were she to witness her unrest, was unendurable. All of that, she explained, had been responsible for her collapse at the market.

Éomer lent her an attentive ear throughout her account and refrained from interrupting her at all. He merely nodded, considering her troubles and pondering a solution to alleviate her fears. Although he did not voice it, he did blame himself for her anguish. He had demanded too much, without serious regards to what circumstances he had forced onto her.

‘And there is something else that Guthláf informed me about.’

‘Tell me.’

‘As my master, you possess the right to summon me to your bed. I would hold no voice in protest; it would be my duty to yield to you, entirely, without resistance.’

His dark brows drew together in a frown, his gaze fixed upon her with a palpable unease. Her words had stirred something troubling within him, enough to give him the impulse to rise to his feet and struggle to contain his confusion. After rubbing his face with the balls of his calloused hands to regain his composure, he turned to her.

‘Please,’ he implored, his voice low and unsteady, ‘tell me you are not considering such a wretched thing.’

With a resigned sigh, she finished the bowl and set it gently aside before facing him again.

‘Desire or no,’ she began, her voice as heavy as his, ‘that power rests in your hands, always hanging over me. My body, our laws dictate, will never be mine to own.’

‘Éorhild, for Béma’s sake!’

His face flushed crimson, a tumultuous blend of anger and hurt twisting his traits. His eyes welled with unshed tears, and his teeth sank into his bottom lip, his force stopping just on the verge of bleeding.

‘Is that truly what you think of me?’ he shouted. ‘Is that what you have been waiting for? For me to use and abuse you until I discard you when the novelty fades? To treat you like an object, as though you never mattered to me?’

Éorhild wept in return, gripping the bedsheets between her fingers.

‘No, that is not—'

His voice cracked, betraying the rawness of the rage and sorrow swelling within him.

‘Damn it, I may be a man, Éorhild, but I am not…’

He suppressed a sob, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘I am not that kind of man. Never would I betray you or your integrity. Never would I raise my hand against you. Do you know why?’

She shook her head, the intensity of her sorrow mirroring that of the storm in his eye. It compelled him to draw nearer to her and offering himself at her feet. With a peculiar vulnerability she had never witnessed from him, he anchored himself by holding on to her hand, laying the other over his heart. Some unseen force urged him to speak, to unburden himself from secrets he had hidden for too long. And so he did with absolute honesty, uttering his truth, meant for no one but her.

‘From the moment I laid eyes on you that evening, months ago, I have been bewitched,’ he confided. ‘I no longer recognise myself. I do not eat, I do not sleep, I have forgotten what I stand for. So often do I wake in the dead of night, with a gnawing pain in my gut. It grips me, relentless and cold, a constant reminder of what I cannot escape. It pulls me from the little rest I find to taunt and torment me about what I cannot control. Every minute of every day, I want to scream myself hoarse, to exhaust myself until I collapse, so I do not have to feel, even for a second.’

Only then did Éorhild grasp the extent to which they had been sharing this torment. They had been nursing their wounds in solitude, each concealing what they could of their anguish to protect the other. Yet their bond had done nothing but press salt into those very wounds, never permitting them to heal. All this time, they had worn smiles veiled by invisible tears.

‘But you know what?’ Éomer continued, urgently pressing her hand against his chest, as if contact would be enough to convey what he was not sure he could articulate well enough for her understanding. ‘Given the choice between this misery and the opportunity to forget your existence… I would choose the misery. I would endure it all over again, without a second thought. And I would thank the Valar for every moment of it.’

Éorhild rose to her feet, her movements hastened and unsteady; he was there with her in an instant, his grasp on her hand unwavering. His eyes bore into hers, intense and searching, seeking a glimmer of affirmation, a spark of hope that her heart mirrored the agony in his own.

‘Why would you ever want that?’ she cried, clutching his fingers in despair. ‘Would you not wish to be free from all this pain? Free from the impossibility of whatever our emotions plead us to become for each other?’

Before he could offer a reply, she cradled his face between her palms. Their breaths mingled as she leant in.

‘Éomer, I am poor. I am but a maid — someone that those of your rank can tread upon without fear, without consequence, with all the impunity the world affords your station.’

Her thumb brushed his cheekbone, carrying with it a brine he shed.

‘I will never make you happy,’ she continued, her voice shattering like glass under the strain of her emotions. ‘All I have done, I see it now, is lead you astray. From your duties, from your role as Prince of Rohan. You are the future king, and sooner or later, you will have to marry Lady Lothíriel. It is written, inevitable. There is nothing — nothing — that either of us can do to change it. So why? Why would you choose to inflict this woe upon yourself?’

‘Do you truly not understand?’

He cupped her jaw, drawing closer still until their noses nearly touched. Éomer, the stoic prince who so often veiled himself in an air of detachment, now stood before her utterly undone, his sobs breaking through the brittle barriers of his composure.

‘Were you not a maid and I not a prince, I would have married you without question. I would have raised a house from the earth itself for us. Shaped every piece of furniture to your liking. I would have roamed the wilds, killed animals with my bare hands to drape you in their pelts, until the cold would never dare reach you. Until every shadow and scent of our house gave you a sense of security and home. Until it breathed only of you.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but he laid a finger upon her lips, seizing the opportunity to caress them.

‘I would have crawled on my knees to the ends of this world to seek the rarest herbs and remedies when your body is weakened. I would have woven the finest silk to compliment the rich brown hues of your eyes. I would have had you trample on my back so your feet would never hurt from stepping on a sharp rock on your path. And I would cherish every child you would be willing to give me. My whole life would have become a shrine to your beauty and to the righteousness of your soul.’

‘But why?’

‘By the Valar, have I not made it clear?’

He swallowed hard, his thumb grazing her cheekbone with tenderness.

‘I love you, Éorhild. And it tears me apart.’

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